


hearts grow fonder

by Chokingonholywater



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Realization, Slow Burn, just had to write something to scratch my reddie itch before the movie comes out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2020-09-24 07:47:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 89,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20354902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chokingonholywater/pseuds/Chokingonholywater
Summary: Everyone says that distance makes the heart grow fonder, but Eddie Kaspbrak doesn't think he agrees. It makes the heart grow more confused, maybe, or more willing to be idealistic, sure. But fonder? That he isn't so sure about.What heissure about is that when his best friend goes away for a month long summer camp, somethingdoeschange - and not just the amount of jokes about his mother he hears on a daily basis. Eddie can't quite put his finger on what exactly he feels is different, but he tries not to worry about it. He's sure everything will go back to normal once Richie gets back - after all, how much can possibly change in a month?





	1. like a surprise party, but not

It had only been a few days since school had ended for the year, and it seemed like all of Derry was celebrating. The sun seemed to shine brighter than it had during classes a few days prior, the air seemed to be a little bit more crisp, the gentle touch of the breeze a perfect accent to the pleasantly warm weather. Even the grass seemed to be more happy, it’s bright green hue a perfect complement to the blue, cloudless sky. 

For Eddie Kaspbrak, much of this had gone unnoticed. Instead, the air that he breathed stuck at home seemed heavier, almost suffocatingly so; the pleasantly cool breeze was rarely given the chance to kiss his skin, as the windows at the Kaspbrak house remained tightly sealed shut. His mother insisted it was for his allergies, although he would be the first to admit he had no idea what he was actually allergic _to._ When he was younger he’d started to think that he was allergic to the sun, or maybe to having fun. He’d grown out of that, of course, but it still felt as though his mother tried to keep him from both equally.

He was standing in front of the window in his bedroom, hands resting on the windowsill as he gazed outside. He hadn’t taken much time to look outside in the past few days, as his mother had insisted on him staying in bed or by her side nearly every moment. She cited some sort of sickness he had to get over, or needing to rest to recover from stress of school, or his allergies yet again. It was more than just stifling; it was suffocating, and Eddie needed out.

That was why when, earlier that day, Eddie had been more than delighted to receive a call from Bill Denbrough asking where he’d been and if he wanted to meet up with the rest of the Losers at the Barrens that afternoon. It was lucky that he’d picked up the phone when it had rang rather than his mother; she insisted that his friends were a “bad influence on you, Eddiekins! You’re much safer here with Mommy.” 

Eddie rolled his eyes. As if his friends were the problem, and not the fact that his mother thought he was a breakable toy she could dress up and move around like a fragile doll. 

Three days of that had been more than enough for Eddie, which was how he’d found himself standing in front of his bedroom window an hour after lunch, staring at the outside world. He was fully dressed; he even had his sneakers on and his fanny pack clipped around his waist. He could hardly wait to get out of the house - the only thing holding him in front of the window was the sure knowledge that if his mother saw him ready to leave, she would want to know where he was going. If Eddie lied, she would want to come along. If he told the truth, she would find some excuse to keep him in the house. 

His only chance was to wait until she had fallen asleep. She always took a nap after lunch, slumped down in her chair in front of the running television. 

Eddie glanced at his watch, fingers tapping an impatient beat on the windowsill. It had been nearly thirty minutes since he had rushed through helping his mother clean up from lunch and he was getting antsy to leave. She could say whatever she wanted about allergies; Eddie wanted nothing more than to be outside in the fresh air, not breathing the same stuffy, recycled air he’d been stuck in for the past three days. 

Still, he didn’t want to get caught. It was a close call at this point - he estimated that there was a 75 percent chance his mom was already asleep. 

With a huff, Eddie turned away from the window; he would take those odds. 

He grabbed the note he’d written off of his desk and folded it in half as he walked towards his bedroom door. It didn’t contain any exact details, just enough to say that he was fine and was with his friends and hadn’t been kidnapped and yes, he did have his aspirator _and_ his pills. 

He didn’t want her to know exactly where he was going - he was sure she would simply show up and demand he come home if she knew - but he’d learned the hard way that if he snuck out, not only would he come back to a very angry Sonia Kaspbrak, but also very likely the police. Eddie got the feeling even the officers felt badly for him; the last time he’d come home to them talking to his frantic mother (“He’s _fragile, _I’m telling you! My poor sweet Eddie baby is _missing,_ oh he must be so terrified, and his allergies—!”) they had seemed reluctant to be there, and all they’d done was tell him not to scare his mother like that. They’d spent far longer trying to express to her that she couldn’t assume he was seriously missing every time he went to meet up with his friends. 

She hadn’t been pleased with that. In addition to keeping Eddie practically locked to her side for a week, she also took up the hobby of complaining about how “disrespectful” the local police were.

The memory made Eddie shake his head, exasperated, as he crept down the stairs. He carefully weighed each step so as to avoid making any excess noise, the note crinkling in his fist as he held the handrail.

He made it to the bottom of the stairs and stopped, straining to listen for any signs of movement. All he could hear was the quiet drone of the television, which didn’t mean much. 

One deep breath later, Eddie continued to move down the short hallway towards the kitchen. He made it there successfully - still no signs of his mother being awake. He unfolded the note, placing it on the table and smoothing it with the palm of his hand. His hands hovered briefly over the now flat paper before he picked it up and folded it in half again, set it down, and then thought better once more and unfolded it for a second time.

Okay, so maybe he was putting off seeing if his mother was actually awake, but could you blame him? He didn’t want to consider the possibility of having to bail on his friends and spend another day trapped in his house, and as long as he didn’t actually _check_, he could perpetually be about to go have fun. 

A quick glance at the bright outside world through the window reminded Eddie why exactly he was about to brave the living room doorway and he sighed, nervousness beginning to form a pit in his stomach. He knew if he stayed and thought about it any longer he might end up just getting too nervous - or even worse and more likely, his mother might wake up and see him, if she was already asleep. With that in mind, Eddie steeled himself and began to shuffle slowly towards the doorway that connected the kitchen to the living room.

The living room came into view bit by bit: the edge of the wall, the bookshelf, the painting on the wall—

Eddie stopped, his hands begging to itch for his aspirator. One more little step forward and be would know if he was about to be free, or if he was doomed to another day stuck here. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and, after a lame attempt at a deep breath that nearly resulted in him _actually_ needing his aspirator, stepped forward. Eddie held his breath as he stood with his eyes closed for a moment, waiting, and was greeted with the sound of—

Nothing. Absolute silence, other than the drone of the TV.

He opened his eyes, grinning, and was greeted with the sight of his mother soundly asleep in her chair in the glow of the television. He silently thanked whatever was up there watching over him for that small blessing, only looking at her for another second before moving away. Things were all working out - he didn’t want to miss his chance. 

He turned away from the living room quickly and moved towards the door, throwing one last look over his shoulder at his sleeping mother as he twisted the doorknob to let himself out. There was a brief flash of guilt for leaving like this, without telling or asking her. Eddie knew his mother did everything - every smothering, suffocating thing - out of love for him, as she told him nearly every day. Still, he reasoned, he wouldn’t have to sneak out if she would just let him do things that every normal kid did. And like that, the guilt was gone.

Eddie gently cracked open the door and squeezed out between the wooden doorframe and the wall behind him, stepping out into the pleasantly warm fresh air. Not stopping to celebrate just yet, he turned around and carefully guided the door closed, making sure to keep the doorknob twisted until after he had pulled the door shut in order to keep the internal mechanism from clicking loudly shut.

As soon as it was closed, he turned and carefully ran down the few off of the porch, skipping the bottom step in favor of a gleeful jump down the the sidewalk. He stopped at the bottom to take in the fact that he was actually outside again; it felt like it had been three years rather than three days. Eddie didn’t consider himself outdoorsy by any means - in fact, he knew the novelty of being outside would probably wear off soon enough - but he was absolutely grateful for it in that moment. He swore that the fresh air had never tasted better, the wind had never ruffled his hair in a more pleasing fashion that right then on that fresh summer day. 

After taking that moment to appreciate his newly obtained freedom, Eddie scrambled around to the side of the house. His bike was right where he left it, leaning up against the siding, obscured by some bushes from the road. He turned it around clumsily, hitting the bushes as he attempted to get the bike facing the right direction. When he finally had it pointing towards the street, he walked it over to the street (no need to be risky with it, a nice bike was a rare commodity for kids his age). 

A moment later he had hopped up onto the seat, and a moment after that he was starting to pedal away from his house and its stuffy air and his sleeping mother inside who was currently none the wiser.

Starting up was always nerve wracking - it had taken some prodding for Eddie’s mother even to let him get on a bike, and her paranoia had instilled a more than healthy sense of fear in him. It was always the same: he hopped up on the bike, removed his feet from the ground and placed them on the pedals, and started to push. The bike would wobble for just a second and he would be so _sure_ that he was about to topple to the ground, that this would be the time he tipped over and broke a wrist or an ankle and proved his mother right. And then every time without fail, the bike caught up to itself and his balance centered and it was like there had never even been that moment of uncertainty, of panic. 

Once the initial fear passed, Eddie actually loved riding his bike. His mother didn’t like him to be too physically active (“You’re too fragile, Eddiebear! And your asthma—you just couldn’t possibly play sports, and gym class is out of the question!”), so riding his bike was just about the only chance he got to really move. Again, he wouldn’t consider himself athletic by any stretch, but he did enjoy riding his bike: the feeling of flying down the road, his legs pumping on the pedals, the wind whipping against his face, rippling his hair, his clothes. It was a moment of freedom, away from his mother’s insistence that he was too sickly and breakable, away from his own residual fears of the same. 

He biked without thinking much of it, his legs working away at the pedals while he pivoted his wrists to adjust the front wheel with a practiced ease in spite of his three days trapped inside. Eddie didn’t need to think about where he was going; the bike ride to the Barrens was as familiar to him as the pills that rattled in his fanny pack with each cycle of his feet on the pedals. Up and down, up and down, _clack clack clack. _

By the time Eddie reached the wooded area where the path to the Barrens was located - which, admittedly, didn’t take an exceptionally long time - he was slightly out of breath. He slowed down as he approached, squeezing the brake down bit by bit as he rolled to a stop. The end of his ride always brought him back to reality, and with it cane his usual level of nervousness: he was always afraid that if he braked too hard, he would get carried by momentum and flip right over the handlebars, and he was in rush to teat that theory. 

Once his bike had stopped he slid off, swinging his leg over the bars in the center of the bike frame to stand next to it. One hand on the handlebars, he unzipped his pack and took out his aspirator to soothe the effects of his bike ride. He didn’t always need it, but he’d been rushing on his way there. The thrill of being outside and on his bike again combined with the excitement of seeing his friends again had had him pedaling just a little bit harder every time he might usually just coast, and he could feel it in his lungs. 

The bitter taste of his medicine still in his throat, Eddie carefully replaced his aspirator and zipped up his fanny pack. He would walk his bike the rest of the way, as it was an uneven path with a plethora tree roots, rocks, plants, and other natural obstacles that Eddie had no desire to meet head on while trying to balance on his bike. 

It was a relatively short walk from the road down the path to the Barrens, and Eddie sometimes hated it - there were bugs around that probably had all sorta of diseases, and probably poison ivy, and weird mushrooms and rotting wood and all sorts of things that you find in the woods that are crawling with germs. Sometimes he enjoyed it though, as he found he was just then. The sun was hitting the trees just right, so the ground had little patches of sunlight that shifted and rippled like water as the wind blew the leaves on the trees above. The breeze felt perfectly cool on his skin, which was very slightly damp with sweat from his all-out bike ride to get there. He could hear birds up in the trees, and it was good.

After a minute or two of walking like that, Eddie began to hear the murmur of distant voices through the trees. He sped up slightly, grinning at the prospect of seeing his friends. The voices began to get clearer, more distinct, as he got nearer. Suddenly, the trees opened up onto the Barrens and he could hear Richie’s voice clearly as he rambled 

“—all I’m saying is, if they could contain the ghosts and shit, why wouldn’t people be grateful! It’s all bullshi—Eds!”

Richie stopped talking about whatever it was he was rambling about and broke into a grin, waving as he saw Eddie appear in the clearing. 

The other Losers that were there caught on as soon as Richie called out his name; there was Bev, sitting on a tree branch, Ben and Bill sitting under the tree so they could look up and talk to her. Richie was standing a few feet away, and had been rambling to a bored looking Stan before Eddie had arrived. 

Bev gave him a little wave from the tree, and then Bill and Richie both started talking at once.

“Huh-hey, Eddie.”

“Where the hell have _you_ been?”

Eddie rolled his bike out of the forest to the side of the clearing and dropped it there, rolling his eyes. 

“My mom’s been keeping me stuck inside, said I had to recover from school,” Eddie said, placing emphasis on the last three words to indicate that he thought his mother was overreacting. As an afterthought, he added, “Hi, Bill.”

Bill looked like he was about to say something more, but Richie - ever the chatterbox - cut him off. 

“Oh, so is _that_ why your mom wouldn’t let me come over? Damn, Eds, I’ve been missing out.” He looked around then to see if his joke would land: Stan shook his head, exasperated; Bill and Bev had a small grin on their faces from the familiarity of it all, and Eddie rolled his eyes and huffed out a mumbled “Yeah, whatever”. So, the response was about as good as usual. Richie didn’t mind at all. 

Eddie had made his way over to the group by then, standing between the tree where Bev, Ben, and Bill sat and the area occupied by Stan and Richie. 

“Where’s Mike?” he asked, looking to Bill for an answer (as so many of them often did).

“Couldn’t muh-make it out,” Bill answered, shrugging. “Something on the fuh-farm.”

“Too bad,” Eddie said, sitting down cross legged in the grass across from Stan. It tickled his bare legs and he though briefly of allergies and disease carrying insects and illness—but then banished the thoughts as Richie sat down next to him. 

It felt like it had been a lifetime since he’s gotten to see his friends - hell, he’d even almost missed Richie’s dumb jokes about his mother. It was nice to sit with them again, to be away from the oppressive energy of his house and instead be surrounded by people he cared about. 

The three by the tree had drifted back into their own quiet conversation, and even Richie was strangely quiet. It was a strange occurrence, but as much as Eddie told Richie to shut up, he found he didn’t actually like it when he did.

“Do you guys wanna go to the quarry tomorrow?” Eddie threw out in an attempt to break the weird silence.

Unfortunately, the silence only got weirder. Bill and Bev exchanged a meaningful glance, and Stan averted his eyes. Even Richie was giving off a weird energy next to Eddie, scratching the back of his neck in an uncharacteristically awkward way. 

Eddie felt out of the loop. It felt like when you walk in on your parents or your friends planning you a surprise party for your birthday, like everyone else knew something you didn’t and they didn’t want to share. Eddie assumed this was similar to that, anyways, because he’d never had a surprise party; his mother insisted they would be too much for his fragile nerves. 

“C’mon guys, what’s going on?” Eddie finally insisted, looking at each of his friends in turn. It was Bill who actually replied to him after a stretching moment of awkwardness.

“I mean, we cuh-could, but Richie leaves for his camp t-t-tomorrow morning,” he said, shrugging his shoulders in a what-can-you-do sort of way. “We were gonna muh-meet up to say bye.”

Eddie blinked dumbly at Bill, and then it sunk in exactly what he was saying. He tipped backwards onto the grass as he realized, not caring about any potentially dangerous threats hiding in it.

“I can’t believe my mom kept me stuck inside so that I totally missed our chances to hang out before he left,” Eddie groaned, speaking the way he often did when he was angry, like a computer without a spacebar. And he _was_ angry - it was already starting to get later in the afternoon, and Richie would be leaving tomorrow morning. His mom’s insistence that he was sick and fragile and needed to stay home had cost him the few days they’d had as a group before Richie left for a month. 

Eddie could feel a hot anger pooling in his gut; he usually didn’t get upset with his mother for being overbearing, but he hadn’t even realized that he’d been missing out on this chance to hang out with Richie while ago all but forced him to stay inside. To hang out with the whole group, really, because it just wasn’t the same when they weren’t all there. He was seething, glaring angrily up at the sky, thinking about—

“Awh, why ah do say, sir, is it that you’ll miss little ole me?” 

Richie had suddenly appeared in Eddie’s line of sight, doing a terrible voice that sounded like a mix between a southern belle and a poorly done british coal baron. He leaned down over Eddie and fluttered his lashes at him, hand’s clasped in front of him. 

Eddie’s anger simmered down almost immediately. Suppressing a smile, he reached up to gently shove Richie’s shoulder. “Shut up.”

Richie responded by tumbling dramatically over and flinging a hand over his forehead like helpless maiden in some medieval drama. “Oh, but you have wounded me so sir, ah do say!”

Eddie could see Stan roll his eyes, but Eddie couldn’t help but find it endearing. Richie’s voices weren’t good by any means, but it was so familiar to him, and so quintessentially Richie, that he couldn’t help feeling a sense of fondness for his best friend’s bad impressions. He was hit with a sudden pang of sadness, tinged with a residual spark of anger, when he remembered that Richie was about to be gone for an entire month. None of his voices, or stupid comments about Eddie’s mom, or his eyes, huge behind his coke bottle glasses, glancing around to see how well his joke landed. Eddie knew he would miss all of it, even as much as he loved to tell Richie to can it.

“We could go to the qwuh-qwuh-quarry later on,” Bill offered. 

Eddie shrugged; he didn’t particularly care about going to the quarry. He’d only suggested it to break the weird tension - the one he now knew was because all of his friends were also thinking about the fact that they would be missing the loudest member of the Losers Club for a month. 

“Maybe,” he said noncommittally. “It’s no big deal,” he added, not wanting to stress Bill put trying to make plans.

The group lapsed back into a momentary silence. Now that Eddie knew its cause, he could feel the solidarity between his friends - all of them knowing they would miss Richie, in all of his annoying glory. It didn’t do any good to just sit there and miss him when he was right there, Eddie reasoned. He knew he, at least, didn’t want to waste a second now that he knew this was the last time he would really get to hang around with Richie for a while.

“We should do something,” he said quickly, breaking the silence. “Like, lets go the Aladdin or get ice cream or something. Y’know, something sorta special maybe?” He thought he sounded stupid and began to think of casual ways to take it back, but someone interrupted before he could. 

“Oh, my good chap, don’t tell me this fuss is on my behalf!” Richie was doing his best british accent now, which was, admittedly, still not very good. “I’m just right tickled that you care, my dear,” he added, tipping an imaginary top hat. 

“Yeah, care about you _leaving_! We should do something to celebrate that you’ll be going, not that you’re still here,” Eddie shot back, slipping as easily as ever into the snippish banter he often dished back to Richie. 

Richie grinned at him. Then, back in his normal voice, he said, “My boy Eddie Spaghetti has a point here.” He leaned over from where he had sat down and hooked an arm around Eddie’s shoulders. “Let’s live it up! The one and only Richie Tozier is gonna be gone, snaggin’ babes and getting even more talented, for a month. I’m a hot commodity,” he added, throwing Eddie a wink. 

Eddie shook his head and shoved Richie’s arm off of him, standing up. He brushed his hands on his shorts as Ben began to speak from under the tree 

“I’d be in for ice cream.”

“Me too,” Bill said, offering Bev a hand to get down from the tree. She smiled at him but deigned not to take it, leaping down from the tree on her own instead. 

“I’d love to,” she said, “but I’ve still got chores. My dad’ll be pissed if they’re not done when be gets home,” she added apologetically, a slight shadow passing over her face. 

Bill and Ben both looked disappointed, but Bill recovered faster. 

“I can ruh-ride home with you, Bev,” he stuttered. “I mean, I can ride with you until w-w-we go different wuh-ways,” he added, a light pink blooming across his cheeks. 

“I can too!” Ben tacked on quickly. “I have to get home and uh, finish...something,” he concluded lamely. “We live on the same side of town anyways. Sort of...” he trailed off, making awkward eye contact with Bill. Eddie hoped the two of them could continue to get along in spite of their obvious conflicting - or should he say shared? - interest. 

Bev, either oblivious to the strangeness between the two boys, simply shrugged. “Sure,” she said, smiling slightly. “That would be nice.”

At some point during this interaction Richie and Stan had both stood up, and Bev walked over to where the two of them and Eddie stood. 

“I can’t make it out of the house tomorrow morning to say goodbye, but have fun at camp, Rich!” 

“You know it, baby,” Richie shot back, grinning as he threw up finger guns. 

She laughed, then began to walk towards the spot on the edge of the clearing she’d left her bike. Ben and Bill trailed behind her, each breaking off to grab their own bikes. After a moment to pick them up, the three of them wheeled their bikes towards the pathway out of the Barrens.

“Enjoy the ice cream for me!” Bev yelled, tossing a wave and a smile over her shoulder at Eddie, Richie, and Stan. 

Richie waved back, and then the three of them disappeared between the trees. 

Then it was just the three of them. Richie turned back to face Eddie and Stan, hands stuck in his pockets. 

“So,” he said, drawing out the vowel sound. “You chumps wanna get some ice cream or what?”

“I really oughta get back home,” Stan said apologetically. “My dad wanted to talk to me about something and I sorta blew him off to be here, but I’m really not looking to tick him off any more by skipping out on him for ice cream.”

“Oh,” Eddie said, suddenly realizing just how quickly his group of friends had come apart. 

“Sorry,” Stan repeated, awkwardly fiddling with the hem of his shirt. 

He waited another awkward beat and then walked away towards his bike. Eddie suddenly came back to reality, blinking heavily. 

“Hold on! Richie and I can just ride with you - y’know, the ice cream place is practically on the way to your house, we’ll just go that way together.” He wasn’t ready for their group to have come entirely undone just yet and besides, sometimes when Stan was in the right mood he and Eddie would team up to make fun of Richie’s crappy jokes and voices. 

“Yeah, okay,” Stan said, waiting by his bike. 

“C’mon,” Eddie said, gesturing for Richie to follow him to their bikes. Eddie had dumped his next to Richie’s without thinking about it, so the two of them headed off to the same spot to grab their bikes and wheel them over to an impatient Stan. 

“Alright my good chaps, off we go!” Richie yelled, pushing between Eddie and Stan. He had none of Eddie’s paranoia or Stan’s common sense, so he hopped up unto his bike once he’d picked up some speed, slamming his feet down against the pedals. It didn’t take long for him to get his rhythm, and soon he was zooming away from the other two.

“You’re gonna fall off!” Eddie yelled after him, doing an awkward half jog down the path as he wheeled his bike. “You like, have no idea what’s on that path, and y’know what, I won’t feel bad when you fall and crack your skull open!” Eddie yelled uselessly, knowing Richie was already out of earshot. He also knew it wasn’t true. Not the part about Richie falling, which probably would be true, but the part about not being bothered by Richie getting hurt. He knew that not only would he be extremely grossed out and almost certainly have an asthma attack, he would also feel extremely bad. Even the thought of Richie getting hurt on his bike made Eddie feel queasy - the image of flipping over the handlebars came back from earlier and Eddie picked up the pace. 

Stan followed suit, and Eddie could sense his exasperation.

“Y’know, I almost hope he does fall. Not enough to be seriously hurt or anything, just enough to prove us right,” he mumbled, kicking at a rock as he passed it. 

Eddie shrugged noncommittally. After a moment of relatively silent walking, he struck up a conversation about the birds they could hear in the trees; Stan was their resident bird enthusiast, and Eddie knew that getting him to talk about them was a surefire way to improve Stan’s mood.

It worked; by the time they got back out to the road, Stan was practically happier than Eddie had seen him so far that day. They’d stopped a few times amid the trees to listen to a birdsong or to stop and examine one that Stan spotted in the trees, so it had taken them a bit longer than usual to get back.

Richie was pedaling back and forth impatiently on his bike when they reached the road. Eddie wasn’t surprised; he was never capable of staying still for very long.

“What the hell took you guys so long? Get lost or something?” 

“You know my sense of direction is better than yours,” Eddie quipped, settling himself up on his bike. Stan did the same.

“Good thing I don’t need to be a master navigator to find my way to your mom’s bedroom,” Richie shot back, turning his bike in a small loop around Eddie. “Amiright, Stan the Man?” 

“Richie, I’m this close to shoving you off of that bike,” Stan scoffed. 

“As if you could catch me!” Richie said cheerfully, beginning to pedal down the road. “C’mon boys, lets roll!”

Eddie moved his feet from the ground to the pedals and began to move, that same moment of panic as earlier grasping at him until he caught his balance and was rolling smoothly down the road, like he always did.

He and Stan had to pedal harder to catch up to Richie’s head start, but they eventually did. They settled into an easy rhythm the three of them, pedaling in relatively synced up silence. They reached the intersection where Stan had to peel off towards his house without much fanfare. 

“I might have temple tomorrow morning, so in case I don't see you, have fun at camp. Don’t do anything stupid,” he added as an afterthought, turning at the corner.

"I’m sure I will!” Richie replied with a grin, turning over his shoulder towards Stan as he said it. He continued to pedal as he did, keeping pace as he and Eddie continued on down the street. They were soon too far away to see Stan, so Richie turned back to the front. 

“So, just you and me now, huh, Eds?” he asked, standing up on his bike pedals.

“You’re gonna break something,” Eddie snapped. In response, Richie pumped his legs faster and swerved in a quick circle around Eddie, one hand holding the handlebar in place, the other waving gloatingly at him. 

“Show off,” Eddie grumbled, grateful when Richie sat back down on his bike safely. 

It didn’t take much longer for them to arrive at the ice cream place. Richie jumped off his bike while it was still in motion; Eddie came to a gradual stop next to him. They both dumped their bikes in the alleyway next to the shop, the two metal frames clattering on top of one another on the pavement. 

“Eddie, my love, go get that bench for us,” Richie said, gesturing lazily to the closest bench in the park across the way. Eddie rolled his eyes at Richie’s choice of words - it was nothing new; Richie was always calling him stupid pet names and nicknames, much to his chagrin. 

“Fine. Here, lemme get out some—“

“Money? No need, monsyur, eet is my treat, my pleasure,” Richie interrupted in a horrible French waiter voice. He did a mock bow, then pointed back to the park. “Zee bench, my good sir, zee bench!” 

Eddie turned away, shaking his head, and headed over towards the bench. He could hear the faint clang of the bell as Richie walked into the ice cream shop behind him. 

The sun was beginning to sink lower in the sky; it was no longer burning directly above the town as it had been earlier that day. Now, as Eddie walked to the bench, it shined down at an angle. His shadow was stretches long in front if him as he walked, warped like a stretched piece of taffy. He wasn’t particularly fond of the image that the shadow put in his mind: a version of himself that was taller, as he had often wished, but in a nightmarish, unnaturally stretched way.

Eddie shook his head as he sat down on the bench as if to dispel the thought from his mind. There was no reason to get himself all freaked out over nothing, not when the afternoon was still sunny and warm and he was still free from his oppressive house and he was getting ice cream with his best friend. He tried not to think about the fact that said best friend would be gone for a month starting tomorrow, because he knew it would just make him vaguely sad for the rest of the afternoon. 

He was startled out of his thoughts by Richie, who had seemingly materialized in front of him. 

“You cone, sir,” he said, using his normal voice but handing it over with a flourish. 

“Thanks,” Eddie said simply, grabbing it from his hand. “Vanilla is my favorite.”

“I know,” Richie said candidly, and Eddie felt like there was a layer of meaning behind the words that he couldn’t quite pick up on. Richie sat down next to Eddie and swung one arm over the back of the bench so his hand hung lazily near Eddie’s shoulder, the length of his arms barely brushing against Eddie’s back. 

They sat like that for a few minutes just eating their ice cream, watching the motion of the trees and the people around them. Richie was being uncharacteristically quiet, and like earlier, Eddie found it sort of unnerved him. It wasn’t that he didn’t think Richie could be serious, or that he thought Richie never had complex thoughts and feelings, because Eddie knew better than anyone that he did. It was just that he didn’t often see a Richie that wasn’t doing a silly voice or making a comment about sleeping with Eddie’s mother, or otherwise filling the silence. 

Eddie guessed it was his turn to try to fill the silence. 

“So are you...nervous for camp?” he tried, hoping that Richie night want to talk about it if that was the case. 

“Me? Oh, no way, Eds. I’m gonna be great, totally amazing, blowing them all away with ny fantastic voices and killer looks. Gonna be absolutely swimming in babes,” he said, but it felt more like a scripted bit than a genuine response. 

Eddie didn’t know exactly what camp would be like for Richie - he could neither confirm or deny his claim about the babes, but he was leaning towards the latter. He _did_ know that it was some sort of comedy acting camp, and that it was a more than an hour away. And, of course, that it lasted for a month. 

Of course Richie was nervous, Eddie mused, mentally hitting himself for even asking. He felt like he’d missed his shot at this particular vein of questioning. More realistically, he realized that Richie probably didn’t want to talk about being nervous. 

That was one fundamental difference between Richie and Eddie: Eddie showed when he was nervous, which was often, and when he was he wanted a calming word, a grounding hand, anything supportive to help pull him back to reality. He didn’t try to hide it because he couldn’t; being nervous triggered his asthma, and he wouldn’t claim that he was never dramatic when he became overwhelmed. Richie, on the other hand, didn’t like to let on that he was feeling anything other than “chuckalicious” and totally in control. He didn’t want you to point it out if you managed to pick up on it, as Eddie sometimes did. He wanted a distraction, a laugh, something to pull the attention off of whatever the problem was and to let him push it back out of the way.

He and Eddie spent enough time together that this wasn’t something Eddie had to think particularly hard about; it was just something he knew, like he knew his mother would be angry at him when he got home, like he knew Bill had a stutter, or that he himself had asthma.

So he tried again, catering his next attempt more towards a distraction than an invitation to talk about the problem.

“What flavor of ice cream did you get?” 

Richie blinked, seemingly being pulled out of some pressing thought. He looked down at his hand as if surprised to see the ice dream cone gripped in it, noticing the drips that had ran down has hand for the first time.

“Oh, uh, rocky road,” he said. He switched the hand that held his ice cream and licked off the drips that had run down the cone, much to Eddie’s disgust. 

“Are you serious? When was the last time you even washed your hands? I mean, we were in the Barrens, and you were touching your bike, and — no, y’know, don’t even tell me, I’m sure it’ll make me sick,” Eddie rambled, watching as Richie licked the last chocolatey drip off of his hand, his nose scrunched up in disapproval. “Just know that when you get sick, its because you just ate like, the dirt off of peoples’ shoes and animal shit particles and oh my _god do not touch me_!” Eddie yelped, leaning away from Richie’s grasp. Richie laughed, wiping his hand on his shorts before switching the cone back to his other hand.

Eddie watched him do this and, without thinking much, blurted out “Can I try some?”

Richie seemed caught off guard. 

“What?”

“Your ice cream,” Eddie said, feeling as though his face had gone up three degrees in temperature. 

Richie turned to examine Eddie, as if afraid an imposter had take his place. 

“You’re sure not too scared of all my icky germs?” Richie cooed, taunting Eddie by shaking the cone in his face. 

“Just let me try it,” Eddie said with a scowl. He didn’t have time to dig into whether or not he was bothered by the germs before Richie shoved the cone directly into his face.

Eddie took an experimental lick and made a face at the flavor, causing Richie to laugh. 

“What?” he asked.

“It’s just, you didn’t like it, right? I could tell because you made this face like someone took a dump in your cereal or some shit,” Richie laughed, imitating Eddie’s own expression: scrunched up nose, eyebrows furrowed, mouth turned in a downward quirk. He burst out laughing as Eddie huffed, crossing his arms.

“I’m just not a chocolate person I guess, alright! I’ll stick with my safe and trusty vanilla, thank you,” he mumbling, pretending to be annoyed by Richie’s laughter. Secretly he was glad he’d managed to make Richie laugh; he’d been getting worried there for a bit. 

Eddie took a bite out of his cone as Richie continued to laugh at him, eating his own cone as he did. 

“So, Eddie, was it worth it?” He asked, taking a large lick of his cone. “Because you know, you technically got all that - what did you say, dirt and animal shit? - plus all the germs that are already in my mouth.” 

Eddie didn’t like thinking of that; it made his chest tighten, like it was suddenly harder to breathe. He didn’t know what had possessed him to ask for a taste in the first place - it certainly hadn’t looked all that enticing, as he wasn’t a huge chocolate fan, and watching Richie lick drips off of his fingers had turned his stomach just enough to be noticeable. Whatever the reason was, he suddenly felt like he could feel the bacteria and the dirt and all the other crap he was now imagining on his tongue. 

“Beep beep, Richie,” he muttered, shoving the last bite of his cone into his mouth. 

Richie finished off his own cone soon after, making sure to lick his fingers again for the sole purpose of ticking Eddie off (“Gotta make sure they’re all clean, Eds!”). Not long after, Richie broke the short silence. 

“I still have a couple things to pack, so...” he trailed off, lacking any of his usual comedic dramatics. “We should probably get going.”

“Guess so,” Eddie said, standing up. He liked that Richie had said “we” rather than “I”; they didn’t need an awkward stilted conversation to establish that they were intending to ride their bikes together, at least until they had to split up. 

They made their way back to they alleyway where they’d left their bikes, picking them up in relative silence. The sense of melancholy was back again, and Eddie hoped that Richie was actually excited about going to camp. He would hate to know that Richie, for all his joking and bravado, was actually dreading being away for a month. 

They got up onto their bikes and Richie, usually aware of the fact that Eddie took a moment to get his bearings on his bike, took off out of the alleyway. 

Eddie hopped up on his bike and slammed his feet to the pedals.

“Richie,” he said, pedaling fast to catch up with him. 

Richie turned his head in response, letting his bike coast so Eddie could catch up.

“Going too fast for you, Eds?” he asked jokingly, but it sounded a little tired, a little worn.

“You wish,” Eddie retorted out of habit, then softened. The two of them fell comfortably into sync as they rolled down the street, and Eddie opened his mouth without an exact plan about what he was gonna say next. 

“You’re gonna be fine at your camp.” 

That wasn’t what he’d been expecting to come out of his mouth; Richie seemed just as surprised as Eddie. They rarely did the whole being genuine thing - prickly banter and back and forth quipping was more their speed, but Eddie didn’t wanna send Richie home to finish getting ready with him still in an obviously less than stellar mood.

“Of course I’ll be fine! I mean, just look at me; I’ll be more than fine,” Richie said after a moment, puffing out his chest. “I might miss your mom, though.” He added, grinning.

“Shut up, asshole! I’m trying to be nice or whatever,” Eddie grumbled, wishing he hadn’t started the conversation.

Still, Richie seemed to realize Eddie was being honest, so he dutifully shut up about Eddie’s mother and waited for Eddie to say more.

“You’ve been all quiet and nervous and shit and I know you don’t think people notice as long as you’re making stupid jokes but gotta say, being nervous is _my_ thing,” Eddie said, trying to be funny, but Richie didn’t laugh.

“Alright fine, so obviously jokes aren’t my thing, they’re yours! So like, you’re gonna be fine at you camp and we’ll miss you and whatever but you’re gonna have fun and annoy a whole group of people.” Eddie was rambling and he knew it, his words coming out faster and faster as he went. He felt awkward trying to be genuine, and Richie’s silence still unnerved him. He continued on anyways, unable to stop himself. 

“Don’t go in the showers barefoot though, do you have any idea how gross that is? Like, there’s all kinds of molds and fungus and they might have to like, cut off your foot. My mom told me about this guy she knew who used a public shower and then got all kinds of gross infections, and, um...” He stopped abruptly, knowing he was losing his train of thought. “Don’t like, get bitten by a disease carrying mosquito or anything. Or get your foot so infected they have to cut it off. Yeah.”

Eddie was mentally kicking himself - he wished he’d never even started this conversation, since it had practically been a useless, rambling mess from the start. It wasn’t that he’d said anything that wasn’t true; he just felt suddenly embarrassed by how much he’d babbled. He wondered if this was how Richie felt when one of his bits fell completely flat: a little regretful, a lot embarrassed, and generally wishing he hadn’t said anything at all. 

Richie didn’t seem to feel the same way Eddie did about the whole affair. In fact, he had a small smile on his face when he finally replied, glancing over at Eddie with an endearing shake of his head. 

“Whatever you say, Eddie Spaghetti. Y’know, it’s cute that you’re so worried about me, really, it is!” 

“Y’know what? Fine! Go get your foot cut off then,” Eddie replied, all mock anger. He was happy they’d found their way back to their usual energy. For good measure, he added, “And don’t call me that!” 

Richie just grinned at him lazily. The lingering melancholy seemed to have lifted a little, for which Eddie was grateful. They bantered casually for the next few minutes as they rode down the street, enjoying a few extra minutes of each other’s company before they inevitably had to go opposite directions.

Richie stopped at the street corner where they’d have to go their separate ways, and Eddie rolled to a stop next to him. 

“Hey, Eddie,” Richie began, voice hesitant. “Do you think you could...” he trailed off slightly, looking down at the concrete sidewalk. 

“Maybe ride around the block a few times before you go home? I really wanna get in some quality time with Mrs. K before I leave,” he said, his sincere facade crumbling into laughter. “Y’know, since I’ll be gone and all—“

“Beep beep, Richie!” Eddie said, but he couldn't stop himself from cracking a smile too. The two boys stood on the street corner, Richie trying to continue the bit through his laughter, which only made Eddie laugh more as Richie tried and failed to compose himself. After several minutes of escalating the bit (“Yknow actually maybe you could go spend the night at—at Bill’s house,” Richie choked out between fits of laughter, barely clinging to his serious facade at all by this point.), their laughter eventually died down. 

The realization that there would be none of this - the riffing back and forth and picking on each other and laughing like that - for a month seemed to dawn on them both at the same time, and they sobered slightly. 

“Anyways, uh, thanks for the pep talk before, old chum,” Richie said, slipping into a bad sort of gruff admiral impression. “Duly noted!” He did a mocking salute as punctuation to his statement, flicking his right hand up above his eyebrow. 

“I see a new journey on the horizon, I do!” he continued, miming holding a telescope. Eddie could sense him falling into the voice as a way of distancing himself from the seriousness of the conversation. He didn’t mind; it was just how Richie dealt with things. 

“Right,” Eddie said, indulging Richie with an eye roll and a lackluster salute back. 

The two of them dropped their hands then from their respective gesture, and Eddie could see the persona slide off of Richie as he got back up on the seat of his bike. It wasn’t a huge shift, but Eddie could pick ip on the little giveaways: the difference in the way Richie held himself as a voice versus when he was just himself, the way that he widened his already large eyes behind his glasses when he was doing a bit. A little bit of the bravado slipped away, replaced by that same slight nervous sadness from earlier that Eddie wasn’t used to feeling from Richie. 

“I dunno if I’ll see you tomorrow,” Eddie said at the same time Richie said, “I guess I should get going. 

“Sorry—“

“Oh, okay—“

Eddie snapped his mouth closed in order to avoid speaking at the same time as Richie again. When he could tell Richie was done, he got what he’d been saying out all in one breath.

“If my mom woke up while I was gone she’ll be pissed so there’s no way she’ll let me go out tomorrow, at least not in the morning. She thinks my allergies are worse in the morning for some reason, or like, if I ride my bike to earlier in the day I’ll fall asleep while I’m on it and crash and break my arm or something,” Eddie said without pause. “So, uh, I’ll see you when you get home.”

“Oh, right.” 

For a second, Eddie thought Richie was at a loss for words. The moment passed then, as Richie flashed him a bright smile and hopped up on his pedals. 

“Don’t cry too much while I’m gone, Eds! And give your mom a kiss goodbye for me,” he shouted, tossing a wink over his shoulder as he began to pedal down the street. 

“Don’t call me that!” Eddie yelled back, and he could see Richie’s shoulders shake with laughter as he moved further and further away. Eddie stood on the corner and watched until Richie turned down a side street and disappeared from his view. It was weird to think that they wouldn’t be hanging out together tomorrow - not really, even if Eddie could manage to get over there somehow before Richie left. 

He tried to shrug it off, settling onto his bike and starting to pedal home. It wasn’t like all of his friends were leaving, or like Richie was never coming back - they would still have more than a month of summer left by the time he got back to cram in hours and hours more of screwing around and making fun of each other, with all their friends, too.

Still, Eddie knew it would be weird. Richie was his best friend; of course he loved all the other Losers, too, but they weren’t Richie. They’d been friends since early on in elementary school, and had always gotten along perfectly. No one else, in the Losers Club or otherwise, _got_ Eddie like Richie, which he supposed was why they were best friends. No one else dished it out and took the same sniping remarks back in stride as Richie did, something Eddie found that he really valued.

Before he knew it, Eddie was back to his house. He barely remembered the ride there; he didn’t even recall passing the creepy and, in Eddie’s opinion, disgusting Neibolt House, which usually caused him to pedal a bit faster. 

He slowed to a stop in front of his house and dismounted his bike, stashing it back alongside the house where he’d gotten it from earlier. 

He stopped outside of the door, not wanting to go in and face the very real possibility of his mother being awake and angry at him. Eddie tried to remind himself that at least there no cop cars sitting outside as he climbed the steps up to the front door, only stopping briefly to take a deep breath before opening the door. 

He could see his mother sitting in her chair when he squeezed inside; she was certainly awake, but didn’t look frantic. Not in the mood to deal with her yet, and remembering his anger from earlier at being kept from those few precious days of hanging out as a complete group, he carefully shut the door behind him and pulled off his shoes. Making as little noise as possible, he crept through the kitchen and turned down the hall. He took the stairs two at a time, stretching when he needed to skip the ones he knew would squeak if he stepped on them.

It wasn’t that he thought she didn’t know he’d been gone, but at least this way he could play a little bit with exactly how _long_ he’d been gone for, and it gave him time to think of the best plan for dealing with her later. 

He pulled open his bedroom door and snuck through, shutting it silently behind him. He let out a breath then, grateful that he hadn’t been caught coming back in and had to face the full brunt of his mother’s smothering anger right away. 

He flopped onto his bed and stared at the ceiling, glad that he hadn’t been stuck there all day. 

It wasn’t until later, when he was recounting the day to himself so as to plan what to tell his mother, that he realized he had entirely forgotten to be afraid of tipping his bike on the way home. He’d been too busy thinking about Richie leaving for there to be any space for that moment of panic, something Eddie couldn’t particularly remember happening before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's chapter one! hope you enjoyed all 9k of it - no idea how it got so long but hey, works for me! drop a kudos or a comment if you liked this first chapter, it would really mean the world to me and id be super grateful for any feedback!! 
> 
> find me on [tumblr](%E2%80%9Cchoking-onholywater.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D) if you want, i post a lot about IT there at the moment bvsckjd 
> 
> see you guys with another update soon!


	2. zugzwang

Eddie hadn’t been surprised at all when his mother had yelled for him to come help set up for dinner. She did every day - at the same time, 5:00 on the dot, Eddie would hear his mother’s loud voice coming from the kitchen, or sometimes the bottom of the stairs, or the living room. And every day, he would scramble out of bed, or away from his desk, or up from the couch, and make his way downstairs to set the table and help his mother with anything else she needed. 

She usually also took this time to remind him of some medical problem he’d been having, or interrogate him about one she suspected him to have. Usually once a week, before Eddie could start grabbing their plates and silverware, Sonia would make him stand in the middle of the kitchen. He would straighten his spine and stick his arms out straight on either side, and she would look. 

It always made him feel sick - her beady eyes would rake over every inch of his body, looking for anything she deemed to be “wrong”. She would inspect his hands and arms, grab his chin and turn his head left and right, whatever she felt she needed to do. All the while, Eddie would hold his breath; the fear was twofold. One part was his fear that his mother would find something wrong - and she always did. “I see you’ve gotten some bruises on your leg,” she would say. “You know, easy bruising is a sign of leukemia, Eddiebear - and didn’t you say you’d gotten a nosebleed just the other day?” Or she would mention the scrapes he occasionally had on his person and insist that they were infected, that she and to fix him up, that he wasn’t healthy. She often mentioned his weight, too, whether he seemed to have gained or lost any, and what diseases might be responsible. There was always an unspoken accusation in her diagnoses, a sort of shaming tone that clearly said, “That would never happen if you’d stay inside with me”. 

The other fear was, in truth, of his mother in general. He would often need his aspirator after these stressful inspections, his legs like jelly, hands shaking, as he waited for the day his mother would finally decide he was just _too_ sick; that he had to stay in for the rest of time, or worse yet, that he would have to live in the hospital. The idea of his mother finding out about where he’d gotten some of his injuries (like the scrape on his knee from when he’d been riding on the back of Richie’s bike and he’d fallen off, or the time that he’d twisted his ankle jumping into the quarry) was equally terrifying. He often lied about the minor injuries he had, and he didn’t exactly know why. 

Even though Eddie knew his mother loved him - she said so, every day, with every meal and every pill, and at the end of every one of her strange, intrusive inspections - he was still afraid of what she might do if she knew how often he did things he knew he shouldn’t. How often he and his friends did things that were dangerous, or unhygienic, or any other plethora of negative words. Hell, even admitting to her that they frequently played in the Barrens was something Eddie had avoided at all costs. In his mind, there was always a subconscious idea that if she knew, something bad would happen. He didn’t know what - it wasn’t like she would hurt him. No, Eddie knew his mother would never, even if sometimes he instinctively flinched away from her touch when she became irritated with him. But hurt his friends? Maybe, a tiny voice in the back of his head insisted. Keep him stuck inside for the rest of his life? Certainly. 

In any case, these inspections always left Eddie feeling more sick than before, and he dreaded them. It was like a game of roulette each time he went into the kitchen when he was called - would today be easy, or would his mother tell him he was showing signs of cancer? Would he be able to just get the plates and cups and napkins they needed, to set the chairs just so, or would she finally realize that there was no way he’d actually gotten those bruises from hitting his leg on the door? 

It was a daily torture, but Eddie had learned to deal with it. His anxiety over it, his sweaty palms when he heard his inevitable summons at 5:00, made it all the more sweet when he didn’t have to stand and be scrutinized. 

At least, that was what he told himself.

When his mother called him down later that day, after he had gotten ice cream with Richie and slipped back into the house, his mind slipped as it always did to these inspections. He hadn’t fallen off of his bike or done anything else that would leave a mark for his mother to berate him about that day, but he was still afraid, as though she would be able to take one look at him and know that he’d snuck away. 

“Coming down, mommy!” Eddie yelled, closing his bedroom door behind him. He trudged down the stairs towards his mother’s voice, which seemed to be coming from the living room. 

Upon getting to the bottom of the stairs and turning down the hall, it seemed he had been right. There was his mother, still sitting in her chair. Eddie wondered if she’d moved at all - some days it seemed as though she didn’t except to occasionally get up, walk down the hall to the bathroom, and return to the television a few minutes later. Eddie didn’t mind those days - it meant she was, for the most part, leaving him alone and to his own devices in the house. They were few and far between, but those sorts of days did happen. 

Sometimes, his mother got headaches which caused her to sleep for most of the day, which was even better, because then Eddie knew he could leave if he wanted to.

He hoped for his sake this was one of those days, because then there was a chance - however small - that she hadn’t noticed Eddie had been gone. 

“Eddiebear, is that you?” His mother looked over from her chair to where he stood in the doorway. “Come here,” she said, and he did.

He could feel her inspecting him as she always did, as though he was an unruly collectible that had escaped from its packaging and she wanted to make sure it hadn’t lost any value. Apparently deciding that he had not, she continued.

“I’ve had the worst headache all day,” she said with a sniff. “Go heat up some of the food from yesterday for us, and set the table.”

“Okay,” Eddie said, secretly excited that the odds seemed to have worked out; maybe he would get away with leaving after all.

He could hear his mother shifting as he walked past, probably getting ready to stand up. Even though setting the table was Eddie’s job, that didn't mean she wouldn't want to watch him do it so she could critique him. She preferred to have eyes on him at all times, for the most part. It got to a point sometimes where Eddie became paranoid he was always being watched - but now wasn’t the time for thoughts like that. 

He made a beeline for the refrigerator - an old, white monster of a fridge that they’d had since Eddie was a child. It was easy to find the leftovers his mother was referring to when he opened the door, as there wasn’t much inside. He grabbed the plastic container he was looking for - it had some plain chicken inside and some vegetables, nothing fancy. His mother wasn’t a very talented cook; maybe she could have been, but she firmly believed that spices and other “foreign little things” were not only expensive, but also dangerous. Eddie rolled his eyes, thinking longingly of the occasions when he got to spend dinner at one of the other Losers’ houses - it was, usually, better food than he had at home. 

He could hear his mother making her way into the kitchen, as he’d expected. As he closed the door of the refrigerator and turned around, his stomach dropped. 

He’d never grabbed his note from the table. There it sat, simple note turned prison sentence on paper if his mother got a hold of it. 

He and his mother noticed it at the same time, and Eddie had no time to think.

He slammed the plastic container down on the counter next to him and lunged for the table, stretching his arm as far is he could to grab the paper. He managed to snag the edge of the folded it page, drawing ti towards him quickly and stuffing it in his pocket. Eddie looked up at his mother then, and froze. Her eyes were beady slits, staring at him suspiciously.

“What,” she said slowly, “was that?”

In retrospect, making a huge scene and lunging for the paper as if his life depended on it probably wasn’t in Eddie’s best interest. 

“It was uh, something from school!” His mother raised her eyebrows, face darkening. Eddie cringed at himself - idiot! School just gotten out for the year, obviously that wouldn’t work.

“I mean,” Eddie said, breathing starting to become shallow, “it’s not from school. Well, it is, but I just found it in my pocket this morning since I guess I put it through the wash like this and I put it on the table earlier because I was um, looking for aomething....else....in my pockets—“ he was wheezing, wilting under the darkening stare of his mother. He could tell it was a lost cause the moment she opened her mouth. 

“Now Eddie, you know that you’ll work yourself up into a fit if you keep carrying on like this. And lying is a sin,” she reminded him, voice low. 

Eddie took in a raspy, gasping breath and scrambled to unzip his fanny pack for his aspirator. He didn’t like thinking about church at the best of times - he’d started to hate it when he was eleven, the thought of it filling him with an icy panic - and this was not the best of times. 

He sucked on his aspirator, the taste making him gag as it always did. His mother watched him with darkened eyes, not moving towards him as struggled to get his breathing back in check. 

When he could finally draw in a full breath - albeit with a cough afterwards, his mother spoke again. 

“Now. What was that paper, Eddie?”

Eddie didn’t know what to do. Every move was a bad one - his brain helpfully provided the word “zugzwang”, something he learned during a short chess phase. It means a situation where one would prefer not to move - where any action results in a loss, and there is nothing to do except swallow it down.

That is how Eddie felt as he shook his head, eyes wide, and made a small “mm-mm” sound through pursed lips. He knew it was useless, but everything in him was so wired into keeping himself safe that he couldn’t bring himself to hand over the note. At some point, he had shoved his hand into the pocket of his shorts and he was gripping the note in a clenched fist. 

His mother’s eyes widened momentarily, and Eddie could see an anger behind him that made his hair stand on end. 

In a flash, it was gone. In its place were tears, making her small eyes glassy. 

“I just - I just want to keep you safe,” Sonia Kaspbrak said, sniffling. “I can’t keep you safe if you - if you _lie_ to me, and you don’t _talk_ to me, and—“ She broke off abruptly in a piteous little sob, hiding her face with her hands. 

Eddie was conflicted - everything in him was screaming not to hand over the note, but Eddie didn’t want to make his mother cry. She often did, though, whenever they had any sort of disagreement. It made Eddie feel vaguely sick, more so than he typically felt, and he often did his best to resolve the conflict and comfort her as soon as he could. 

Sonia Kaspbrak peered out from between her pinky and ring fingers, still sniffling loudly. She watched Eddie’s face as she continued to cry, feeling betrayed and angry and certain, beyond all doubt, that Eddie would give in after such a display. It was only a matter of time; her tearful routine had never failed to achieve whatever it was she wanted from her son.

This time, though, she began to get nervous. There was something different in Eddie’s face - an anger, perhaps, or some sense of resolve. Just as she was about to ask for the note again through her tears, Eddie opened his mouth to speak.

“Mommy, it’s just a scrap of paper. You - you don’t need to see it to keep me safe.”

Eddie chose his words carefully, walking the gossamer line of letting his residual anger at his mother from earlier slip out into something that would end up coming right back to him and being too passive and giving her the chance to push him further. He wasn’t sure he would be able to hold out through more tears. He’d never tried before, never stood up to her when she was like this, but he used his anger at being stuck inside as a sort of support to hold himself in place. 

Even so, his hands were shaking, and he felt vaguely ill. 

“What did you say?” his mother said, blinking her tears away.

“I just mean - it’s really nothing,” Eddie said, watching as his mother’s face darkened. His heartbeat began to pick up. His mind began to produce a list of diseases and afflictions which might cause an increased heart rate (heart attacks, arrhythmia, tachycardia, atrial fibrillation—)

Suddenly, the tears were gone. His mother began to walk towards him, face stormy. 

“Give me the note, Eddie,” she said, her voice soft and low, carrying a sharp edge to it. 

Eddie shook his head, heart racing, backing up instinctively. His fingers tightened around the note in his pocket, his other hand frozen at his side. 

For each step she took towards him, Eddie took one back. His breathing was fast and shallow, his eyes wide—

“Agh!”

He let out a yelp as he backed into the counter, the edge pushing painfully into his spine. There was no where else for him to go as his mother’s looming frame grew nearer. His left hand scrabbled along the counter next to him, but for what purpose, he didn't know. It didn’t matter, because it was only a moment until Eddie’s mother was right in from of him, and he was trapped.

She reached out one large hand and wrenched Eddie’s arm out of his pocket, holding his wrist tightly. He tried to pull his hand free to no avail - her grip only tightened, beginning to hurt.

“Let - let go,” Eddie gasped, wishing he could grab for his aspirator again. 

“Once you give me the note,” his mother said, voice cold and blank under a polite guise. She began to pry his fingers out of their fist shape, still holding his wrist tightly. Eddie winced, still struggling to catch his breath. Each finger she forced to uncurl hurt, painful and tight like it was a rubber band about to snap. Without meaning to, without even thinking about anything other than reducing the pain, Eddie released his grip. 

Sonia Kaspbrak grabbed the small white paper before Eddie even realized he’d let go. She released his wrist in order to unfold the note, her eyes devouring the words.

As soon as she stepped back, Eddie frantically unzipped his fanny pack and scrambled for his aspirator. He sucked down on it like a man drowning, wincing at the sore, white band of flesh around his wrist where his mother had held his hand in place moments before. 

“You snuck out?” 

Eddie looked up at his mother, holding his wrist close to his chest. He was still breathing sporadically, his heart still racing. 

“I—“

“Was it that Tozier boy that made you do it?” she demanded, her eyes fiery. “I’ve told you, Eddie, he’s a bad influence on you. What would I have done if you’d been kidnapped, or had an asthma attack all by yourself? What would I have _done_?” 

She was crying again, her breathing heavy. “Those friends of yours are a bad influence, Eddie,” she said through her tears. “They - they make you do dangerous things, and they make you treat me like this,” she cried, wiping her eyes.

Eddie stood still, watching. He didn’t understand why she was crying - he was the one still unable to breathe, wrist aching, frozen in shock. He hadn’t even done anything horrible - all he’d sone was spent the afternoon with his friends. He may as well have written down that he’d taken heroin and killed someone in a bar fight with how she was acting. He didn’t know what he wanted to say to her, so he said what he always did: “I’m sorry, mommy.”

She perked up at this, her tears slowing immediately.

“You should be,” she sniffed. “You need to stay home, Eddiebear, where I can see you and protect you and keep you safe. No more of this sneaking around with your nasty little friends,” she said, emphasizing the last word to make clear she thought they were anything but. “They can’t keep you healthy and safe like me, Eddie. They don’t love you like I do,” she added, reaching out to touch his face.

He flinched away, eyes wide. A dark look clouded Sonia Kaspbrak’s eyes, and she took a step back. 

“Go upstairs,” she commanded, voice conveying none of the love she had just spoken of. “Now.”

She took a single step backwards, but that was all Eddie needed. Suddenly able to move, Eddie darted around her, out the doorway, and around the corner. He pounded up the stairs two at a time, not bothering to grab the handrail. 

He slammed to a momentary stop in front of his door as he grabbed for the handle, eventually twisting it with his left hand as opposed to usual. His right wrist was still pulled tight to his chest, as if he still had to keep it away from Sonia’s vice like grip. Eddie practically fell through the doorway once he had the knob turned, whipping around to close it behind him. He wished briefly that his room had a lock - his mother would never have allowed it. 

His mother.

Eddie looked down at the ring around his wrist, now a sort of darkening red beneath the skin, and felt sick. He grabbed his trash can from beside his desk and pulled it over to his bed, still using his left hand, and then crawled on top of the blankets. He curled up on his side, trying to breathe in and out as best as he could. 

It was a struggle, one he wasn’t sure he would win. He felt shaky and sick, like he was going to pass out and throw up all at once. 

Eddie held his wrist up in front of him, examining it. It looked like it might bruise. He wasn’t exactly sure, since this has never happened to him before. He tried to move it experimentally, and was somewhat relieved to find that it was not broken; he could move it every direction, and roll it in circles, and flex his fingers. 

It did hurt, though, and suddenly Eddie felt like he was going to throw up. He bolted up and snatched his garbage can off of the floor, pulling it in front of him. The only thing he could imagine to make this worse would be if he got sick all over his bed - not only would he have nowhere to lay, but he’d also have to get his mother, or try to clean it up himself. The thought made him gag, and he gripped the garbage can tighter.

He could feel his body threatening to slip into a full blown asthma attack - Eddie experienced them occasionally, usually when he was upset or overwhelmed. His mother had explained to him what they were, and that she could help him deal with them.

(Bullshit, Eddie thought, squeezing his eyes closed.)

Sometimes there was crying when he had an attack, sometimes he shook, sometimes he threw up, but he always felt like he was suffocating. Like he was drowning in the ocean of whatever was going on around him, scrambling for air, unable to find any. It was horrifying, and Eddie really, really didn’t want to go through that right now. 

Still with his eyes closed, Eddie tried to focus on his breathing. It was something that Bill had taught him, actually - when his stutter got so bad he could hardly speak, he’d said, the fastest way to get through it was to breathe. 

“You breathe in suh-slow through your nose,” he’d said when Eddie had asked. “And then you hold it, and then you b-blow the air out of your mouth.” One of Bill’s parents had shown him how, although at the moment, Eddie couldn’t remember if it had been his mom or his dad. 

It didn’t matter, Eddie chided himself. 

He tried to breathe in through his nose, like he knew he should, but it was too hard. His breaths were still half gasping heaves, so he settled for just trying to slow them down. His chest shook with the effort - each breath ripped in and out of his lungs, but he tried to force himself to hold them for a second longer, to breathe in just a moment more. 

When his breathing had eventually become less a combination of dry heaving and choking and had instead settled back into a familiar gasping shortness, Eddie tried again to breathe through his nose. This time, he had more success. One breath at a time, he gradually made progress. After what was probably a few minutes but felt like ages of carefully measured breathing, when Eddie could finally take a deep breath without starting to choke again, he opened his eyes. 

The world was still exactly the same as it had been before, which was always something strange about having an episode. He felt as though something huge had just happened, because for him, it had. But it was all self contained - other than the fact that he was holding his garbage can, nothing else had changed. The sun was still filtering through his window, all oranges and reds getting lower in the sky. His room still looked the same, the walls the same shade of blue they’d always been, his desk still sitting where it always was. Even the pain in his wrist was still there, faint when he moved it, proof that what had happened had, in fact, happened.

He squeezed his eyes shut again, not wanting to let the thought of his mother gripping his wrist send him spiraling again.

Surely, she had’t meant to hurt him, right? 

Eddie laid back down on his bed, staring at the ceiling. 

He’d just been thinking earlier about how his mother would never hurt him. How she loved him, and took care of him, even if sometimes it was too much and it felt suffocating. Even if she kept him inside for days, and got angry when he went to see his friends. She was just protective - and why shouldn’t she be? 

Eddie was sick. He had all sorts of problems - lungs that didn’t work right, to start, he thought bitterly. His breathing was still a bit uneven, a bit strained. Someone had to look out for him, and since his dad had passed away when he was a child, he only had his mother to do it.

Still, he couldn’t shake the way he’d felt earlier. It hadn’t been guilt, it hadn’t been nervousness - it had been fear. Pit in your stomach, fight or flight kicking in, unmistakable _fear_. He didn’t know what to make of it. It wasn’t like he’d thought he was really in danger, right? 

And yet, there was that faint pain in his wrist that wouldn’t let him push it from his mind.

His blank ceiling seemed to taunt him, empty and calm while Eddie stared at it feeling anything but. He couldn’t stop his racing thoughts as he tried to fit what had happened into an easier to swallow narrative. Something that was logical, something that had to be the truth. Because the idea that his mother would ever just hurt him on purpose, would scare him like that on purpose? Eddie couldn’t accept that it was true. As angry as he had been at her earlier, it all came from a place of love, didn’t it? All the coddling, and the protectiveness, even the force used when she needed to - it all came back to her desire to keep him healthy and safe, like she said. 

Suddenly, Eddie realized that it was his fault. 

He’d snuck out, and lied about it, and made a whole big scene out of what should have been just a little issue. If he hadn’t tried to keep it from her in the first place, she never would’ve had to corner him. If he’s just handed her the note like she asked, it never would’ve gotten to the point where she had to take it from him. 

He supposed it made sense, when he thought about it that way. He’d freaked out over the note, and she had no way of knowing that it was nothing. Hadn’t she only scared him, only cornered him, only hurt him - accidentally, he mentally amended, before she knew that he’d only been out with his friends? She’d probably jumped to the worst possible conclusions and just couldn’t help it, like Eddie often did. If he’d been honest from the start, or at least once she’d seen the note, the whole thing could’ve been avoided.

With that realization in mind, Eddie figured he had two options: he could stay home and only go out when his mother told him it was okay, or he could get better at hiding it, and at knowing when it was time to lie and when it was time to tell the truth. 

He thought he should probably find some middle-ground between the two, keep walking that same gossamer thread he had earlier of standing up for himself and giving in.

Eddie rolled over onto his side, suddenly exhausted. He always was after his asthma attacks, and all that had come before it certainly hadn’t helped. 

As he laid there, he struggled to believe that just earlier that day he had gotten ice cream with Richie, had seen all of his friends. It seemed lifetimes ago, when it had really only been a matter of hours. The memory made him smile, driving away some of the heavy thoughts and emotions about that evening’s events that clung to the edges of his mind. 

It had been so nice to hang out with all of his friends, however briefly. It had been nice, especially, to see Richie before he left for camp. That was enough, in Eddie’s mind, to make this all worth it. He’d been stupid about how he snuck around, and he’d suffered for it, but he’d do it again if he had to in order to escape his house for a few hours with his friends. To make sure he got to spend some time with Richie before he was gone for a month. 

It was good he’d gotten it in, because he had a feeling his mother wanted to keep him home for the rest of his life after today.

Eddie yawned, his eyes struggling to stay open. His entire body felt heavy, his head like it was filled with cotton. His wrist hurt, his back hurt, his chest hurt - all of it served to make him feel heavier, a bit more like he was sinking right into his mattress, right into the earth. 

He supposed he could go to sleep - it was early in the night, or late in the evening depending on how you looked at it, and it wasn’t like he wanted to have to interact with his mother at the moment. 

Letting his eyes flutter closed, the last thing Eddie thought before falling asleep was that he was sorry he wouldn’t get to see Richie off the next morning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so there wasn't a lot of plot, i KNOW, sorry! this sort of just got out of hand...fun fact, i actually needed my own inhaler in real life while writing this because my asthma started acting up asdvbcaks. anyways, i swear we'll get into some pining and more scenes with the other losers soon, whatever sonia kaspbrak might prefer. 
> 
> please leave a comment!!! it would mean the world to me :') see you guys soon with more!!


	3. quid pro quo, or eddie makes a deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another 7k chapter woooooo

When Eddie woke up, the first thing he realized was the he was hungry. A moment later came the realization that he was aching - his back hurt, and so did his wrist. He had a vague headache, too, and he wanted nothing more than to nestle back into his blankets and go back to sleep. 

He almost did - he could ignore his headache and the other vague pains in his body, and his bed was so comfortable. 

Then, he remembered what had happened.

Eddie’s eyes flew open then, shuffling backwards in bed to come to a half upright position against the headboard. His arms were still under the blanket from the forearm down, and he was almost scared to bring his aching wrist out from under the blanket. If he did, and there was actually something there—

Eddie shuddered at the memory of the white, then red band of skin around his wrist. He almost wanted to leave his hand hidden, to go back to sleep and ignore it. Maybe when he woke up he would realize there was nothing wrong with his wrist. Maybe he was still asleep; maybe he’d even fallen asleep after coming back from getting ice cream, and this had all been a dream. A nightmare really, of course, that had to be it. There was nothing else that made sense. The memory of the fear that he’d felt standing in his kitchen seemed distant, just enough so that it felt like it could’ve been a dream after all. 

Eddie decided this had to be the truth. He knew on some level that he was being childish, but he couldn’t help it. If he decided it was a dream, he never had to deal with it.

Satisfied, Eddie planted his hands on either side of him flat against the mattress and went to hoist himself up so he could slide back down into bed. 

As he did, a sharp twinge of pain shot through his wrist and he dropped back into a seated position with a slight bounce. 

No luck on it being a dream, then. 

Eddie lifted the sheet and blanket away gingerly, as though his wrist would be a mangled mess or missing entirely instead of just bruised. Still, he couldn’t help but suck in a sharp breath as he brought his wrist into view, the ache growing each time his moved it. Carefully, Eddie brought his arm in front of his face and examined it. 

There was, luckily, very little on the outside to indicate the pain Eddie felt when he moved his hand. He could see a faint mark around his wrist with a few darker points; he assumed these might be from where his mother’s fingers had dug in, or maybe her ring. It was overall not as bad as he’d been expecting - a few light bruises were no big deal. He got bruises all the time. 

He didn’t know why he was surprised that it hadn’t bruised all that much. Sure, it had hurt in the moment, but Eddie knew he was sort of dramatic when it came to pain, even more so when he was already nervous, as he had been. It wasn’t like his mother had - had hit him, or anything. She’d just had to make him hold still, which was fair, Eddie thought. It was all fine, and it had barely even bruised, so there was really nothing more to get worked up over. At least, that was what he told himself as he forced his brain away from his wrist and why it was hurting in the first place.

Successfully shutting down that train of thought for the moment, Eddie suddenly realized he had to idea what time it was, or what day. The light coming through his window was just bright and washed out enough for it to be just past sunset, or some time in the early morning. He couldn’t tell if he’d been asleep for an hour or two or ten. He felt tired, but whether it was because he’d been asleep for too long or not long enough, he couldn’t tell. 

He was still in his clothes from earlier (yesterday?), which did mildly disgust Eddie, but he shoved it down. He could shower and wash his sheets later. What mattered was that he was still wearing his watch.

He brought his other wrist up to his face and read the number - once, then again, to make sure he was reading it right. 

It was nearly seven in the morning.

Eddie rubbed his eyes, as though maybe he’d just read it wrong due to something in his eyes or blurry vision from just having woke up. That was easier to believe than the idea that Eddie had slept for over twelve hours, but the numbers on his watch stayed the same. 

“What the hell,” Eddie mumbled under his breath, struggling to believe he’d practically been in a short coma. It would explain how hungry he was though - if it really was almost seven in the morning, he hadn’t eaten anything since ice cream with Richie previous day. 

Suddenly it struck Eddie that if that was yesterday, then today - in a matter of hours - Richie would be leaving. And Eddie, in all of his bruised wristed glory, wouldn’t be able to go see him and say goodbye like some of their friends were planning to. It wasn’t like he’d exactly asked his mother if he could go out that morning, but he already knew that her answer would be a resounding no. Maybe if he tried hard enough to convince her, she might even cry again, Eddie thought bitterly. 

He hated that his mother did that to him - putting him in the situation where it felt like he had to back off and comfort her. He knew she didn’t mean anything by it, and maybe he was just being lazy, but he felt like keeping it together and dealing with tears was supposed to be her job as the parent, not his. It wasn’t like it happened all the time, but often enough. She just got overwhelmed sometimes when Eddie disagreed with her, and it made her emotional. Sometimes that meant she started to cry, or something she got scarily quiet, or - very rarely, but occasionally, Eddie thought, absentmindedly rubbing his wrist - angry with him. 

Still, he hated the idea of not getting to send Richie off. If some of their friends would be there, Eddie wanted to be there too. Sneaking out clearly wasn’t an option, since when he got caught he would be in such deep trouble with his mother that he would probably get rushed to the hospital for some mysterious illness she suddenly noticed, and then grounded for the rest of his life. 

Eddie sighed, leaning into the headboard. He supposed that meant his only option was trying to convince her, which seemed hopeless. 

It was only a month apart, and he would almost certainly have to give something up if there was any chance he’d be able to go, but for Richie he would try his best. 

—

After tiptoeing downstairs around 7:30 to grab some cereal, Eddie had returned back to his room. He stayed their quietly for the next couple of hours, waiting. 

His mother got up around 8:30, a bit earlier than usual but not too shocking. Eddie could hear her moving around downstairs, probably making herself breakfast. He wondered if she would try to wake him up - sometimes she did, sometimes she didn’t. Often she alternated between the idea that he needed as much rest as possible to “recover” from his illnesses and the diagnosis that oversleeping was a cause, or a symptom, or both, of any myriad of diseases and maladies. 

He found himself pacing to pass the time, contemplating what he should do. He wanted to go send Richie off, of course, but the task of convincing his mother was a daunting one. Eddie knew he would have to play his cards exactly right, bargain just so, if he wanted any chance of getting out of the house that morning. He played it through in his mind; should he go down sooner or later? Act like he was sorry, or like the whole incident had never happened? Use Richie’s departure as a bargaining chip, or make up a vague, half truth about where - and why - he wanted to go? 

There were a lot of factors at play, all of them a jumbled mess in Eddie’s mind as he walked back and forth across his room. Rarely did he have such grand issues with his mother that they required this amount of forethought and planning to recover from; lately, though it had felt like they had been butting heads more and more often. It usually had something to do with the Losers. Eddie could practically feel her contempt for his friends whenever he mentioned them, or hung out with them. The only one she seemed to like at all was Bill. A lot of adults did seem to like him - maybe something about his stutter made him more endearing, or perhaps it was the fact that Bill was a master at the art of showing adults what they wanted to see: a polite, well mannered boy with an unfortunate stutter who only wanted to go to the library, or play cards with his friends, or some other innocuous activity, but he “h-h-hoped you have a good day”. 

Eddie snorted at the idea. It wasn’t like Bill was a bad kid - far from it, really, as he genuinely was kind and polite - but he certainly wasn’t all that adults thought he was. After all, he was often the one to suggest they to go to the dump, or the Barrens, or the quarry, all of which were places that “nice” kids should have avoided, and he wasn’t particularly shy about flipping the bird when needed; it was usually aimed in Richie’s direction. 

In any case, Eddie wondered if maybe he couldn’t use Bill to make this all work - some of his acting, maybe; if Eddie could channel that innocent look Bill had perfected to give adults, he thought it might help his case. He might even be able to use Bill as his reason for going out, since his mother might be marginally more inclined to agree to let him go for a bit if it was just Bill - sweet, polite, parent-approved Bill.

He filed the idea away in his mind for later. He was pretty certain he would need the perfect combination of every possible factor to pull this off.

Deciding to stop pacing, Eddie moved over to his bed and plopped down onto it. His feet touched the ground over the edge of the bed, his socked feet just brushing the floor. It occurred to him then that he should probably get dressed before he saw his mother, since he was still wearing the previous days clothes. In fact, he reasoned that he should probably go pull out all the stops to look put together - go brush his teeth, wash his face, comb his hair, the whole nine yards. His mother would already be looking for reasons to keep him home, and if anything about his appearance seemed to indicate that he was so much as tired, Eddie knew she would latch onto it as a sign that he was sick.

And maybe he was, Eddie mused, heading over to his dresser. He had just slept for more than half a day, which was at least abnormal. There was the niggling voice in the back of his mind (which sounded suspiciously like his mother) that insisted his strangely long sleep was a sign that he was suffering from cancer or a brain defect or a slow decay of his nerves or any other number of horrible maladies, but he did his best to ignore it. It made sense for him to sleep like that sometimes, he reassured himself - isn’t that something teenagers do? Besides, he hadn’t been sleeping well the past few days, and surely those two things combined with what had happened immediately before he fell asleep were enough to justify how long he’d slept for. 

Eddie pulled a pair of shorts and a t-shirt out of his dresser, glad to get out of his day old, slept in clothes. Throwing his old clothes in the hamper, Eddie cracked open his door to listen for his mother. She was probably downstairs - she usually was, at this time of day, but he didn’t want to get caught by surprise. Satisfied by the distant sounds of her moving around, he opened the door and walked down the hall to the bathroom.

It took him several minutes to brush his teeth, comb his hair, and get himself feeling generally a bit less unclean from having gone to bed without doing any of that or even changing his clothes. 

He continued to muse about how to handle his mother as he brushed his teeth, playing through what he was planning in his mind. It just might work, if he was lucky.

He supposed it wasn’t the end of the world if it didn’t, and Eddie was stuck at home, but he didn’t like the thought of that. He’d spent enough time in his home, more than enough, and he wanted to be with his friends, or at least say goodbye to Richie before he left.

Eddie stopped at the top of the stairs, taking one last mental tally of every card he had at his disposal. He knew he was probably overthinking this, but that was his nature. Fighting the urge to take a puff from his inhaler, Eddie started to walk downstairs.

He could hear the muffled noises and voices that indicated that the television was on. He walked down the stairs with a measured step, not wanting to give away that he was awake until he absolutely had to. He’d planned it all out, and he decided that he would need the element of surprise - he rolled his eyes at his own dramatics - to get the upper hand. He kept that in mind as he crept down the hall and through the kitchen. He tried not to look at the corner where he’s been cornered the nigh before, a sick feeling washing over him when he glanced over at it for a brief moment. 

He paused in the doorway of the living room, just outside of his mother’s view. She was in her chair as usual, a book resting forgotten in her hand as she stared at the television.

Figuring now was as good a time as ever, Eddie stepped into the room, making sure he was loud enough to get her attention. 

She turned her head quickly, eyes wide, but seemed to relax when she saw it was only him. “Oh! Eddiebear, I didn’t hear you come down!” There was something in her tone that Eddie found a bit unnerving, or maybe it was a lack of something: she was acting like last night hadn’t happened, like he hadn’t snuck out and gotten caught and that she hadn’t—

No, Eddie admonished himself, no point thinking through it again. He’d expected her to react like this, was almost counting on it. 

“Mommy,” he said, carefully measuring his tone. “I want to talk to you...about last night.” During the pause in his sentence, he brought his right wrist up to his chest, holding it protectively with his other hand. He hoped it looked unconscious, as if he just happened to do it - he’d practiced in the mirror how to get it to look as natural as possible.

He watched as her eyes flicked down to his wrist, her grip on her book tightening slightly. When she looked back up, there was something in here eyes Eddie hadn’t expected, a brief flash of nervousness, like maybe Eddie actually finally had some cards to play. 

Success, Eddie thought. 

Before she could say anything, Eddie pushed onto phase two of his plan. 

“I wanted to say sorry,” he said, hoping the words didn’t sound as insincere and bitter as they tasted. “I shouldn’t have scared you by sneaking out and not telling you when you asked.” This seemed to catch Sonia by surprise, just as Eddie had hoped. 

“Oh, Eddie,” she sighed, the anxious look in her eyes fading. “You’re just so fragile, sweetie, I don’t know what I would so if something happened to you.” She sniffed to punctuate her sentence, as if about to cry. 

“I know,” Eddie said, voice all faux sincerity, eyes darting down towards the ground in what he hoped was a convincingly guilty look. He kept himself from rolling his eyes as he looked down, but just barely. This whole thing was such an act, he was surprised his mother didn’t see right through it. Or maybe he wasn’t actually all that surprised; it wasn’t as if his mother actually _saw_ him, really saw him, most days. 

“That’s why I wanted to ask you something,” Eddie said. The moment of truth was incoming; Eddie hoped his little act and the few cards he had left up his sleeve would be enough to get a win. 

Sonia seemed to tense up immediately. Whatever emotional response she’d been having before was wiped away, a stony look replacing it. “And what would that be?” she asked, staring at him from underneath heavy brows.

“Can I go see my friends this morning?” 

Eddie knew it was a big ask, but that was all a part of the plan. Start big, then get smaller; give up things that he never expected to get at all; make her feel like it was her choice to rein him in, not his. 

“Eddiebear...” Her face had gone sour, as if he’d asked if he could bring roadkill in and keep it as a pet. He could see the dislike, maybe even a shade of anger, bubbling in her gaze, so he jumped back in before she could continue. 

“I know I need to stay home and rest, because of my allergies,” he said, hating the words even as he said them. “But I just need a little bit of time this morning. Not even an hour,” he said, letting a pleading tone enter his voice. 

“Eddie, I just don’t think that’s for the best.” Sonia’s face was still hard, and Eddie tried not to freak out. He hadn’t been expecting this to work, not yet anyways. He still had a few more moves, so he took a deep breath and changed tracks slightly.

“We have to go to the pharmacy today, right?” He asked, knowing he was right but letting her answer anyways. 

“Yes, but why—“

“What if you—we,” Eddie corrected himself, “just stop really fast on the way. Five minutes, maybe ten. I promise. I just really need to see them today.” When she still looked skeptical, he added another chip to the pot. 

“You don’t even have to let me out of your sight. You can just park and I’ll go, and you can make sure I’m all safe the whole time.” The word safe was like venom, but he hoped it didn’t sound that way. As if his mother had to keep him safe from his friends - if anything, Eddie scoffed mentally, it was sometimes the other way around. “Please, mommy, I swear it’ll only take a couple minutes.”

Sonia seemed, for a brief moment, to be considering it. Her face was still stony, but Eddie could see the slight shift in her gaze that he could tell came from his offer to let her keep her eyes on him, just as he’d expected. He could also tell that while she did like that idea, she also realized that she could do the same exact thing by keeping Eddie at home. The debate in her eyes was dying, and Eddie knew this wasn’t going to end in his favor. 

It was time to lay out all the cards he had. 

“I promise I’ll stay home after that,” he said. “I’ll stay in for the whole day - the whole weekend,” he added, but it didn’t seem to be enough yet. Steeling himself, Eddie upped the anti. 

“The whole week, even. We can watch TV, and...” he struggled to think of anything else that he and his mother ever did together. “And you can take care of my allergies. Just here. Safe.” The words tasted rancid on his tongue. He felt like he was making a deal with the devil, trading his freedom for a brief moment with his friends, but it was working. Sonia’s eyes sparkled at the idea of Eddie home for an entire week of the summer just as much as the thought of it made Eddie’s stomach drop. 

“And I won’t see Richie for a whole month,” Eddie added, laying down his last card. 

“Oh? And why’s that?” His mother asked, and Eddie felt his blood boil at her shift in tone now that we’re talking about Richie. 

“He’s...going to a camp,” Eddie said. “He won’t be here, and he’s leaving today, and we’re going to say goodbye to him.” 

“You know I think he’s a bad influence on you,” Sonia said, as if she was talking about the school’s resident delinquent and not Eddie’s best friend. 

“He’s gonna be gone for a whole month,” Eddie repeated, trying his best not to let his anger show. “Let me see my friends today, just for five minutes, and then I’ll stay home and - and rest,” he said, hating that he had to play like this just to be able to leave the house.

Sonia stared at him, gaze dark. After what felt like an eternity, she opened her mouth.

“Fine. We’ll stop for five minutes - that’s it. You don’t need to be out there any longer than that, not with your allergies as bad as they are. A week home will be good for you,” she added, eyes gleaming. 

Eddie felt a flood of relief wash over him - it had worked! - but she wasn’t done. 

“And some time away from those - those other _kids_,” she added, spitting out the last word. “They’re going to get you hurt, Eddie, if you keep running around with them. You shouldn’t be hanging around people like them - you’d be so much healthier if you stayed here. You’ll see.” She seemed satisfied, as if Eddie’s week of lost freedom would magically convince him that his friends were the criminal miscreants his mother thought they were. 

Eddie swallowed his anger down, knowing this wasn’t a fight he would win. He _had_ won still, in a way, by convincing his mother to let him stop in and see his friends, even if it meant giving up his freedom for a week. 

“Sure, mom,” he said. It was all he could manage without letting his feelings lip through. “They’re meeting at nine thirty,” he said, turning around to leave the living room. 

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” 

Eddie turned around to face his mother, who was staring at him expectantly. Ignoring the anger still churning in his gut, he dragged himself over to her. 

“Thank you,” he mumbled, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. He hated it - hated that she treated him like such a child still, that he had to thank her for this most basic of things, that she had just insulted all of his friends and he had to be okay with it. He pulled back like her skin burned him and turned away, making a fast beeline for the doorway. 

He paused for a moment before stepping into the kitchen. “Can we leave in a couple minutes?” he asked, not looking at her. 

“Fine.” 

Eddie walked away then, heading to the bathroom. He just needed a minute away from his mother, a second beyond closed doors to let the fake politeness and gratitude slip off and reveal how angry he was at her underneath it all - at her words about his friends. At her overbearing attitude. At her insistence that she’d done him some amazing favor by agree to just five minutes with his friends. 

He closed the door behind him and closed his eyes, letting out a slow, angry breath. Eddie knew that the way his mother acted was, in her way, out of love. The demand that he stay home came from a place of care, of wanting him to be safe. Eddie knew this, but that didn’t make it such any less annoying, or any less restrictive.

He kept his eyes closed for a minute, just trying to breathe. For once he didn’t feel like he needed his inhaler. He wasn’t trying to being himself down from panic this time, but from a red hot anger that sat heavy in his gut. 

When he opened his eyes after a minute of measured breathing, he almost didn’t recognize the face staring back at him in the mirror. The look on his face was so cloudy, his eyes so much darker than he’s ever expected them to be. He hated that his mother made him feel like this, hated that he was so angry. It wasn’t fair, even though sh meant well. 

Eddie turned on the faucet and washed his hands, half out of habit and half as if he could wash away the mood he was in. It didn’t work; his anger stayed even as the bubbles rolled off of his hands and down the drain, but he felt like he’d cooled off a bit. Enough to see his mother again and keep his cool, which was perfect timing, since he figure’d they’d have to leave pretty much now if he wanted to be on time. 

After drying his hands, Eddie opened the bathroom door and stepped back out into the hall. He clicked the light off behind him and, after a breath, said, “Mommy? Ready to go?”

He waited. He was suddenly overcome with the worry that she’d changed her mind, that she was still sitting there in her chair and she wasn’t going to take him to see his friends, or let him out of the house at all. He wouldn’t be surprised, honestly, but the thought did make his pulse start to speed up.

The moment stretched longer still, and Eddie’s hand found its way to the zipper of his fanny pack unconsciously, fiddling with it. 

“Yes,” came the reply, finally. 

Eddie let out a breath of relief. She didn’t exactly sound happy about it, but Eddie didn’t actually care. All that he cared about was that she was following through on what she’d promised, and that he was gonna get to see his friends. 

Eddie walked quickly across the kitchen, sitting down on the floor to pull on his sneakers. His mother was standing in the doorway of the living room, shoes on and keys in hand, looking impatient. He couldn't care less about her impatience, shoving out the front door without waiting for her to follow. He could hear her insulted huff behind him as he bounded down the steps to the driveway.

Fine. Let her be insulted for once.

Eddie felt bad as soon as thought it, so he stopped in the drive and turned around to give his mother a sweet smile. She didn’t a smile back, exactly, but Eddie thought her eyes softened just a bit as she lumbered over to the car. After a moment spent waiting for her to unlock the door, Eddie ducked into the car after his mother. 

The space was stuffy, and Eddie found he didn’t know what to say. His mother had put the keys in the ignition and the car was humming softly. The silence stretched on, Eddie adamantly staring out the window, u til his mother spoke. 

“Where exactly are we going, sweetheart?” Her voice was sweet, but Eddie could sense her irritation. 

“Oh! Right, um, it’s down Witcham and then take a left onto Jefferson, and, um, I can point it out after that,” he said, all in one breath. 

Eddie’s mother had never driven to Richie’s house before, he realized. This was strange, on the surface, since Richie was Eddie’s best friend, and had been for years. It was not strange, however, once you realized that Eddie’s mother did not like Richie, and it was much easier for Eddie to get out of the house - and stay that way - if she didn’t know where he was. He was certain she wouldn’t like Eddie spending time at Richie’s house, though it was nice enough: a small, beige house with a simple garden out front and grass that was always just in need of cutting. Eddie loved it there; he was sure his mother would not. 

He didn’t like that this secret would be out now, that his mother could theoretically show up next time Eddie rode his bike to Richie’s house to read comics together, or hang out in Richie’s room, or watch stupid movies. She’d done it at Bill’s before; stormed in having a fit, saying Eddie had been out too long, and practically dragged him home by his ear. Richie hadn’t let him hear the end of that one for weeks, and Eddie wasn’t especially excited for a sequel. 

What else could he do, though? This was the best he could manage if he wanted to see Richie off, and he really, really did. So, he would deal with the possibility of his mother interrupting he and Richie when it happened - _if_ it happened, he corrected himself, cheeks slightly flushed for a reason he couldn’t place. 

They were turning onto Richie’s street now, several minutes of silence having passed as Eddie simply stared out the window. He was glad his mother hadn’t tried to strike up a conversation, or convince him not to see him friends, or simply driven straight to the pharmacy. Eddie had thought she might.

Peering down the street, Eddie could see the red truck in the driveway that Eddie knew to belong to Wentworth Tozier. Although from this distance he couldn’t make out who it was, he could see several figures standing near it. One of them had to be Richie, the tallest probably his father - the other two, Eddie wasn’t sure. Bill was probably one of them, since he’d suggested it in the first place. 

“It’s the one on the right,” Eddie muttered as they drew closer “The beige one with red truck, and the sunflowers.” 

His mother made a noise of ascent, putting her directional on and shifting over to the curb in front of Richie’s house. Eddie waited until she had put the car in park to unclip his seatbelt, one hand already on the handle of the door when his mother reached out and held him in place. 

Eddie sucked in a quick breath, freezing in place. 

“Five minutes,” she all but hissed, looking at him from under heavy eyebrows, eyes dark. 

Eddie nodded his understanding. His eyes were wide, two brown saucers that seem to engulf his features. She searched his face for a moment, squeezed his arm, and then lets go. 

And then Eddie scrambled into motion, shoving open the car door and practically rolling out of the car, all legs and arms in a tumble shoving their way out. His heart was still pounding when he slammed the door closed behind him, not bothering to watch his mother’s reaction. 

He could see that the he’d been right - Bill was one of the two figures Eddie hadn’t been able to make out. Next to him, Eddie was pleasantly surprised to see, was Mike. And of course, Richie and his dad were both standing by the truck; Richie with a backpack slung over one shoulder, his father rearranging bags in the truck.

The sight of Richie made Eddie feel warm, and he would’ve yelled out to him to get his attention if Richie wasn’t already looking at him. Eddie could see his brows were drawn together, watched his large brown eyes move from Eddie’s face to the car idling at the curb and back again. He must’ve seen Eddie practically fling himself out of the car away from his mother, Eddie realizes. 

Richie raised his his eyebrow slightly and blinked, just once, eyes huge behind his coke-bottle glasses. It was a silent question: _are you okay? _

Eddie just grinned, and the tension left Richie’s face as he smiled back. 

“Spaghetti man!” he exclaimed happily. “Didn’t think you’d make it.” He patted Eddie’s cheek twice in quick succession when Eddie stopped in front of him, grinning. 

“Yeah, well, I did,” Eddie said, shoving Richie’s hand away. “Hey, Mike,” he added with a smile. 

Mike smiled back, all bright teeth and warmth. “Hey, Eddie.”

Bill nodded at him with a smile by way of greeting, and Eddie was so happy that he had been able to make it. 

“So when are you leaving?” Eddie asked, turning back to Richie. 

“Can’t wait to get rid of me, huh?” Richie quipped. “Why, ah’m hurt, Edward! Simply aghast!” he continued in a terrible Southern Belle voice, titling his head back and closing his eyes. After a moment, Richie cracked one eye open, as if waiting to see if Eddie would laugh. 

Eddie snorted instead, shaking his head. “Shut up,” he said, hitting Richie’s arm. “Obviously I’m just asking. It’s not like I _had_ to show up here, idiot, I just wanted to see you.” Eddie snapped his mouth shut after that, not having intended to be so candid. What he’d said wasn’t a lie, of course; it just wasn’t funny, like so many things between them were. Eddie just honestly had wanted to be there, and hoped Richie didn’t think it was weird that he’d said so. 

Richie, luckily, didn’t seem to think much of it. After a fleeting look of a sort of contemplation running across his features, he broke out into a grin. 

“Aw, Eds, such a sweetheart! C’mere,” he said, making kissing noises and reaching for Eddie.

“Beep beep,” Eddie said, taking a step back. He felt hot and cold at once, suddenly a little queasy, though he couldn’t say why. He saw Richie’s eyes flick over Eddie’s shoulder, then back to him.

“Your loss,” Richie shrugged, blowing one more kiss at Eddie. “Mrs. K would be jealous, anyways.” He gave a cheeky grin and waved in the direction of Eddie’s mother in the car, whom Eddie had forgotten about entirely. 

Eddie could practically see his mother’s disgusted face in his mind from earlier when she’d talked about Richie, like he was a criminal, saying he was a bad influence. Eddie didn’t want to push his luck, so without thinking, he reached out and grabbed Richie’s still waving arm by the wrist and pulled it back down to his side. 

“Cut it out, she barely let me show up here at all,” he hissed. Eddie had taken a step towards Richie when he’d grabbed his arm. They were close enough now that Eddie’s arm was brushing against Richie’s, his hand wrapped around Richie’s wrist. 

Richie blinked, then looked down at Eddie’s hand, still holding his arm loosely. Eddie suddenly became aware of the fact that he was close - too close - so he took a quick step back, pulling his hand away from Richie like his skin burned. It sort of did, actually; Eddie wondered if perhaps he was having an allergic reaction, and that was why his arm felt all warm and prickly where it had rubbed against Richie’s. 

“Hey, kid, clock’s ticking.”

Wentworth Tozier had rounded the truck, breaking whatever weird energy had been filling the air. Bill and Mike, who had started talking about something else, suddenly drew their attention back to Richie.

“Oh, right.” He glanced at the three friends standing around him, then stuck out a stiff hand towards Bill. “Alright my good chap, I’ve got to be off,” he said, slipping into the British Guy voice. Bill smiled, grabbing Richie’s hand. “Very good, very good!” He pumped Bill’s arm for a moment, then slapped his hand into Mike’s, shaking their hands vigorously at the same time. 

“Awful swell of you chaps to come see me off, it is!” He shook their hands for a few more moments, then threw them both down, grin wide. Bill shook his head, and Mike, playing along, said, “Of course, my good sir!” 

Richie turned to Eddie then, and in spite of the germs, Eddie found his own hand was already outstretched awaiting Richie’s. Richie glanced down at it, then up at Eddie with a grin. He reached out, grabbed Eddie’s hand, and then - before Eddie realized what was happening - pulled Eddie into a sort of hug. Their hands were still gripped as if to shake, smushed awkwardly between them. 

Eddie felt sure he was having an allergic reaction, his skin suddenly too tight for his body. 

“Pass that along to good ‘ole Missus K, won’t you?” Richie said, pulling back. “I’d give you something more to pass along, but that wouldn’t exactly be proper—“ 

“Beep beep,” Eddie grumbled. Richie flashed him a pearly, gap toothed smile and squeezed his hand before letting go. 

He turned to his dad then, who had watched his son’s antics with endearing eyes. 

“Ready to go, sir?” Richie said, still doing the British Guy voice.

“Aye aye,” his dad answered, trying to play along. He usually did try, even when it didn’t work out. Richie appreciated that about his father. 

Richie spun on his heel to face Eddie, Bill, and Mike again, throwing one hand to his forehead in a salute. 

“Alright, men, I’m off! Next time you see me, I’ll be a high class comedian, babes on each arm, even more than now!” Eddie rolled his eyes, and Bill shook his head. 

“Uh-huh,” Richie’s dad said, the ghost of a grin on his face at his son’s behavior. “Let’s get a move on, kid.”

“Right you are!” Richie said. Then, slipping back into his regular voice, said, “Seriously, don’t cry too much while I’m gone. I won’t forget you guys at camp and make a whole new set of cool comedian friends - probably.” He grinned, opening the truck door as his father did the same on the other side.

Eddie, Mike, and Bill all moved the the side of the lawn, watching as Richie hopped into the truck and closed the door. His dad started the truck, and then they were backing out of the driveway.

“Buh-bye, Richie!” Bill said, waving. 

“Have fun!” Mike added, throwing up his own hand.

“Won’t miss you,” Eddie added, but the grin on Richie’s face in response made Eddie sure Richie knew that they would. 

“See ya Mikey, Big Bill, Eddie Spaghetti!” Richie called as they pulled out onto the street. “Tell everyone not to miss me too much!” He waved as they drove away, and the three boys on the grass waved, and they just kept waving until the red truck disappeared down the street. 

“So, do you guys w-wanna go to the quarry later?” Bill asked after a moment, walking to where he and Mike had left their bikes. Eddie and Mike followed him. 

“I’m free after lunch,” Mike offered, picking his bike up off of the grass. 

“Eddie?” Bill asked, and Eddie opened his mouth to say “sure, yeah, of course, Bill”, but he paused, feeling a heavy gaze on him. He turned to see his mother glaring at him, looking like she was about to lay on the horn or come barreling out of the car to drag him away at any second. He swallowed thickly, turning back to Bill and Mike.

He wanted nothing more than to say yes, but he knew he couldn’t. Instead, he said, “Sorry, guys. I’m gonna be stuck at home for a while.” He tipped his head back slightly, inclining it in the direction of his glaring mother. 

“That’s too b-bad,” Bill said, swinging a leg over his bike. 

“Maybe tomorrow or something,” Mike said, smiling.

Eddie felt a pit in his stomach, knowing he’d be just as stuck tomorrow. He didn’t want to tell them that, though, because Mike’s smile was so wide, and Bill was watching him with hopeful eyes. 

Eddie felt a surge of love for his friends, and said only, “Maybe.” It tasted bitter on his tongue, but Bill and Mike seemed satisfied. 

“Anyways, I better go,” Eddie said, words tumbling out too fast. He could still feel his mother’s angry gaze boring into the back of his head, and he didn’t want to keep her waiting any longer than he already had. 

“Me too,” Mike said, swinging himself up onto his bike.

“So after lunch?” Bill said, the question directed at Mike. Eddie began to walk away, turning around to head back to the car. He heard Mike give some sort of positive answer, then louder, Mike said, “Bye, Eddie!” 

“See ya later, Eddie!” Bill added. Eddie smiled over his shoulder at them, lifting one hand to wave goodbye. 

“See ya—“ Eddie stopped, cutting himself off. He wouldn’t see them later - not today, not for a while. His stomach sank at the idea, so he simply tossed one final “Bye!” over his shoulder as he reached the car, hoping he was too far away for them to pick up on the tenseness behind his smile. 

He pulled open the door to the car, smile gone. He ducked inside silently, closing the door gingerly behind him. 

“We agreed on five minutes,” his mother said finally as he clicked his seatbelt into place. “That was eight.” 

“I know, mommy, I just—“

“Here,” she interrupted, shoving hand sanitizer towards him. “I saw that Tozier boy - _Richie_,” she amended, as though his name were something unpleasant she’d found stuck to the bottom of her shoe, “putting his hands all over all of you. He’ll get you sick,” Eddiebear, all of you. Not clean, I’m sure, and you’re so delicate about infections, you know.”

Eddie felt that familiar sense of anger at the way his mother spoke of his friends, but there was something else, too. “Putting his hands all over you,” she’d said, and though Eddie knew she meant the hug and the handshakes and the patting his face, something about the phrasing made his stomach flip. His skin felt strange again, prickly and too tight like before, and he allowed her to squeeze a little puddle of hand sanitizer into his palms without complaint. Maybe he really was having an allergic reaction, or maybe he was just feeling all the germs because he was thinking about them, crawling all over him. Maybe the hand sanitizer would fix it, Eddie thought.

Either way, he obviously didn’t intend to tell his mother about the strange feeling under his skin, so he curtly said, “They’re not sick.” 

“Mm-hm,” his mother huffed, as though she didn’t believe him, or didn’t care. She dropped the hand sanitizer back into the center console and started up the car, pulling away from the curb and back onto the road. 

They rolled on towards the pharmacy in tense silence. Eddie was absentmindedly staring out the window, working the hand sanitizer into his hands. It was sinking in, truly, that he wouldn’t see his friends for a while - Richie for an entire month, the rest of them for a week. It had been worth it, he decided, to see them this morning. To see Richie off. It had been nice, even if he’d spent the next week alone at home with his mother to pay for it.

Eddie blinked, suddenly aware that he was still rubbing his hands together despite the fact that the hand sanitizer had long since disappeared. The weird, tingly tightness on his skin had disappeared too, so he chalked it up to a weird fluke and put it out of his mind as he shoved his hands under his legs to keep from rubbing them together any more. 

He glanced at his mother out of the corner of his eye, no desire to say anything to break the silence as they drove towards the pharmacy. The car was stuffy, and Eddie wished he was riding his bike with Mike and Bill instead of sitting in stifling silence in the car, the scent of rubbing alcohol in the air.

Still, he reasoned, gaze moving back to the window, maybe the next week wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe it would go by quickly, or his mother would relent and let him see his friends sooner, let him go to the quarry or the arcade or the movies. 

_Yeah, and maybe she’ll grow wings, too_, a voice that sounded vaguely like Richie’s said in Eddie’s mind. _Let’s be honest: this is gonna suck, and you know it._

_Beep beep,_ he thought with a grimace.

He hoped he was wrong. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG.......i started college and it's sort of crazy yknow? plus i took a break from this chapter to go write this on a whim so, like, check it out if you wanna. anyways, things are happening!!! i have ideas for the next chapter, so hopefully it wont take as long for the next one. let me know if you guys are liking it w a comment or a kudos!!! they make me :')
> 
> until next time, find me on tumblr at choking-onholywater !!


	4. pasta on the brain

It was Sunday, the soft light of the early evening filtering like gold through the windowpanes. The sun was bright, the sky was blue, and Eddie Kaspbrak was absolutely miserable.

He was sitting in the living room on the couch, his mother in her chair, as he’d spent so many hours of the past few days. The TV was playing, as it always was; some sort of game show, Eddie knew, but he’d stopped paying attention to what was on the television days ago. It was all the same, and none of it was anything interesting.

Eddie shifted on the couch, his left leg having gone numb from sitting on it for too long. He wondered if the couch had changed shape after so many hours spent on it in the past few days. He could almost imagine a perfect, Eddie-shaped divot in the ugly sofa cushions, the lines of his limbs pressed into the foam forever. 

He rolled to the side slightly, not liking the concept of being permanently stuck on this stupid couch in any way, even just by pressing into the cushions. It already felt enough like he was going to be there forever, stuck with his overprotective mother and the ugly throw blanket on the back of the couch and the stupid gameshow host smiling wide enough that Eddie was a little bit resentful. 

Eddie let out a frustrated sigh, pulling his knees up to his chest and resting his chin on them.

“Are you alright, Eddiebear?” 

His mother had turned her head slightly away from the TV, her small eyes staring at him in her periphery. He must’ve sighed louder than he’d thought, if she’d noticed. He blinked slowly, trying to mold his irritation into an acceptable response.

Apparently he’d taken too long to reply, as his mother shifted more towards him in her chair, face concerned. Eddie couldn’t help it; he felt his annoyance spike at seeing her look at him like that, like she had been all week. Like he was about to fall apart, or maybe she thought he already had, and was looking for a reason to coddle him. She started to speak again, her voice dripping with infantilizing concern.

“Do you need your inhaler, sweetie? Are you having a hard time breathing? We can go to the d—“

“I’m _fine, _Mom,” Eddie cut in, not bothering to even out his tone. 

She blinked, the concern gone from her face at the coldness in his voice. 

“Well, I was only asking,” she said simply, face stony. “There’s no need to be snippy about it, Eddie.”

Eddie pursed his lips, turning his head to face away from the television and his mother. They’d been playing this game since the very first day of Eddie’s week long sentence: she would be overly concerned, Eddie would insist he was fine, and then she would get cold. Eddie had apologized every time, knowing he was being unfair. She was only being a concerned mother, nothing but love making her ask him gratingly, incessantly, if he was okay. Once he relented, she seemed to perk up, often giving him medication for something or other, or sending him to bed to rest, or forcing him to get up and move closer so she could check if he was actually fine. As though he couldn’t tell, or perhaps as though he was lying.

He wasn’t, this time, but that wasn’t to say he was always honest with his mother. He supposed that was the whole reason he was stuck in this room, on the couch, with his mother’s gaze boring into him. 

Eddie knew in that moment that even if his lungs had decided to take a vacation and fail entirely, he would’ve rather sat there with his mouth pressed shut and suffocated on his own than relent and allow his mother to flit around him trying to cure him. It was one form of suffocation or another - at least this way, he wouldn’t have to deal with the last two days of his excruciatingly slow moving week spent at home. 

Eddie could tell his mother was waiting for the inevitable apology, but he was tired of giving it. He was tired of a lot of things about staying home, having started to really go stir crazy the day before. If he could just get out for a moment, maybe take a walk or ride his bike down to the grocery store, he was sure he’d feel better. Less like he was trapped and suffocating, which he knew was a dramatic way of thinking about a week spent at home, but he couldn’t help it. 

His mother sniffed loudly from the other side of the room. Eddie felt like the room had shrunk, the air heavy and constricting. 

He shot his knees out and away from his body, practically jumping off the couch. He could see his mother jump slightly at the sudden movement.

“Eddie, what—“

“I’m going to go for a walk.” He said it with a confidence he didn’t feel, turning towards the doorway with his shoulders tensed to prepare for what he knew was coming.

“No, I really don’t think that’s for the best. Your allergies,” his mother began, voice placating. 

“Fine!” Eddie snapped, knowing he would regret it later. “Fine. I’m going up to my room, then.” He turned back towards his mother, gauging the look on her face as he crossed between her and the television. It was dark and stony, something that always made Eddie’s stomach flip. He instinctively pulled the wrist closer to her up to grip his other arm as he walked past. He didn’t think that she would do anything, of course, but why even give her the chance? He didn’t want to be stopped and interrogated, or checked over for tumors or bruises or whatever illness he might secretly be suffering from, and he certainly didn’t want to be kept in that room any longer. 

He could feel her staring at him, could almost imagine that she wanted to reach out and keep him there (the skin around his wrist prickled, just for a second). For one brief, stomach dropping moment, he could see her shift towards him out of the corner of his eye: face cold, eyes squinting, hand half-raised in his direction as if to reach for him. He stepped quickly away and to the side, out of her range of motion and then he was past her, passing through the doorway.

He stopped, one foot over the threshold into the kitchen, the other still in the living room. He could feel his mother staring at the him, the weight of her look as oppressive as the unending drone of the television and the recycled air of the room. 

Eddie took a long, slow breath, eyes closed. He knew he was being unfair and dramatic, but he couldn’t help it. He was just jittery, wanting nothing more than to get out of the house. He had two days left still, though, and he didn’t want to be kept on an even closer tether after an outburst like this. 

With that in mind, he opened his eyes. He turned around then, just angling his body enough so that he could see his mother, who was still watching him. 

“Sorry, Mommy,” he said, trying to give her a smile. It felt more like a grimace. “I just need to get up and stretch, and maybe take a break from TV. Just gonna go read or something. I’m fine,” he added preemptively, hoping she would believe him. She seemed suspicious, as usual, and Eddie held his breath as she considered him. 

“Alright, Eddiebear,” she said finally, her tone not matching the nickname. 

“Thank, Mom,” he said, going for another smile. It occurred to him as he moved down the hall that he didn’t really know what he was thanking her for. Letting him go to his room when she wouldn’t let him out of the house? Eddie let out an ungraceful snort as he bounded up the stairs to his room. As if that was something she should be thanked for, giving him the bare minimum amount of freedom.

Still, Eddie felt less like he was suffocating by the time he got to his bedroom. He’d been spending a lot of time in his bedroom the past few days, but it still felt less claustrophobic than being in the living room with his mother. At least up here, no one was observing him or asking if he was okay every few minutes. It was a measure of freedom, even if he was bored of everything in the room.

He crossed the room and opened the window, allergies be damned. If he couldn’t go outside, he could at least alleviate some of the clinical stuffiness of his house by inviting in the outside air. His mother would have made him close it right away, saying something about allergies or bugs or airborne diseases, but Eddie found he didn’t care. He took a deep breath, gazing out the window, enjoying the way the air filled his lungs. 

A light breeze now flowing through the room, Eddie turned away from the window and flopped down onto his bed. He was laying on his stomach, his legs over the edge of the bed, arms folded in front of him. He rested his head on his forearm, face squishing against his wrist. He simply laid there for a minute, eyes closed, breathing slowly. 

It was only another two days. A day and a half, really, Eddie mused. He could surely survive another thirty-odd hours of this, right? 

He groaned at the thought, turning his face into the blankets. He had the sudden urge to start scratching tally marks into the wall for each hour that passed, like a prisoner in a crappy movie. The idea of his mother seeing them almost made Eddie laugh, a smothered snort coming out instead. He wasn’t exactly planning on marking up his walls for real, but the idea was still pretty funny, and pretty accurate to how he was feeling. 

He lifted his head slightly, twisting his wrist to look at his watch. 

It was still only a little before 4:00. Eddie dropped his face back into his arms, not caring that his nose was squishing up against them.

He stayed that way for what was probably a few minutes, but felt far longer to Eddie as each minute stretched on at an agonizing pace. He had a little over an hour to kill until dinner, though he almost wished it was already time for them to eat. Not that he was particularly hungry, or interested in sitting with his mother again - god, no. But then it would be an hour closer to him going to bed, and then he would wake up again on his last day of being stuck in this house. 

He sighed, rolling over onto his back. His white ceiling bared down at him, an expanse of boring nothingness that Eddie could practically feel in the air. 

He briefly considered actually getting up to grab his book like he’d told his mother, but he didn’t think he’d be able to focus. He’d already read an entire book and started a new one since he’d been stuck home, plus rereading a bunch of his favorite comic books. He didn’t think he could read any more, or his eyes might fall right out of his skill. 

So he stared at the ceiling, arms splayed out to either side, legs dangling off the bed. He stared until shapes began to dance in his vision, until he was seeing colors in the blank white plane. He tapped his socked toes against the floor. He moved his hands to the zipper of his fanny pack, the hem of his shirt, his hair, and he stared. 

Eddie expected his mother to call him for dinner any minute - he’d been laying in one place for so long, staring up at the boring nothing, for ages. After another few minutes without hearing her call, Eddie dragged his wrist in front of his face and peered at the watch on it. 

4:16pm.

Eddie let out a quiet, whining groan, throwing his head back against the mattress. Another forty five minutes to kill, and absolutely nothing to do. 

He didn’t have any motivation to get up, so he looked around his room lazily from where he was draped on the bed. There were books, like he knew there were, but he wasn’t in the mood to read. He knew he had a sketchpad in the drawer of his desk, but drawing didn’t sound appealing. He didn’t have much else to do in his room; there was a paddleball on the edge of his dresser, but he’d broken the ball off accidentally the day before. 

His eyes settled onto a strip from the photo booth at the arcade. He remembered that day - he’d dragged Richie into the little booth, the rest of their friends crowding in after them. Somehow, all seven of them had fit into the tiny box, although you could see in the photos just how tightly packed it was. 

With nothing better to do, Eddie finally gave in and let his mind wander to the topic he’d been trying not to think about: his friends. He wondered what they were doing - it had been almost a week since he’d seen them. Had they gone to the quarry later that day, like Bill and Mike had been planning? Had they built any new forts at the Barrens, or just stuck to their already established clubhouse? Maybe they’d gone to the dump, or to see a movie, or had a run in with Henry Bowers and his gang. Maybe all of those things had happened in the time that Eddie had been stuck at home.

He sighed, hit with a sudden pang. He missed them, even though it hadn’t been horribly long since he’d seen them. It had still been too long for Eddie’s tastes. He was used to seeing them every day in school, plus whatever else they did after school and on the weekends. 

He wondered if they missed him, while they’d been hanging out the past week. He hoped so, only because he’d missed them all terribly. 

Eddie shifted slightly, turning his face so his cheek was resting on his shoulder rather than looking straight up at the ceiling. He wouldn’t blame them if they were actually a bit relieved at his absence. He knew he wasn’t easy to be around, what with his constant rambling and his fear of germs, cuts, scraps, infections - the list went on. He wasn’t exactly the most brave, always reminding them of the risk of falling off of their bikes when Bev wanted to ride down a particularly high hill, or telling them about the flesh-eating bacteria that can live in the murky river water when they wanted to wade in the Kenduskeag. 

It wasn’t that he was trying to be boring, he was just painfully aware of the dangers of whatever they did. He hated himself for it, because he felt like his mother whenever he pointed out the ways that someone could get hurt or sick or whatever from something fun the rest of them wanted to do. He couldn’t help it, though - that worry was a part of who he was. 

That didn’t stop his friends from rolling their eyes at his rambling, on occasion. Never Mike or Ben, who would only smile reassuringly at him, and Stan sometimes seemed almost as worried as Eddie. Beverly almost always rolled her eyes with a grin and a soft shake of her head, never demeaning but simply a soft dismissal; a quiet “Thank you for caring, but we’ll be okay. I promise.” Bill was the same way, when he got his mind set on something. 

Richie was always the one to push back, scooping up a handful of water to fling at Eddie when he’d just been talking about the bacteria in it, or standing extra close to the edge that Eddie had just warned them away from tumbling off of. 

“Come on, Eds! Live a little,” he’d say, grinning. “Don’t be such a stick in the mud. Loosen up a bit, like your m—“ “Beep beep!”

Eddie sighed, looking back up at the ceiling. 

His friends were probably enjoying the break from his overprotective, nervous hovering. He knew he’d be enjoying being away from his own mother as soon as possible; Tuesday morning couldn’t come soon enough. 

If they were missing anybody, it was probably Richie. He always had the right words - or the wrong ones, which garnered a chorus of “beep beep!”s, but laughter and smiles too. He was always the one with something to fill the silences, the first to jump up when one of them wanted to go try something new and fun. He brought his radio down to the Barrens and played whatever music he could catch down there, lip syncing and playing air guitar like his life depended on it. 

Yes, if there was anyone that the Losers were missing the past few days, it was Richie, all energy and motion, not Eddie, the “stick in the mud”. And Eddie couldn’t even say he blamed them; he missed Richie too, like a dull ache behind his ribs that wouldn’t go away. 

Even more than the rest of his friends, he’d been avoiding thinking about Richie. He figured that it felt worse because unlike the rest of the Losers, Eddie wouldn’t be seeing Richie again on Tuesday. It would still be another three weeks until Richie was home, and Eddie was sure he’d miss Richie the whole time. He would never tell Richie that, of course, already imagining the stupid responses Richie would have if Eddie do much as mentioned he’d thought about Richie while he was gone.

He wondered what Richie was doing at camp. Were the cabins clean? The showers? Eddie knew instinctively that the answer was no, probably to both. He shuddered at the thought; dead spiders in bunks, slimy tile floors, weird dark spots on plastic shower curtains. He wondered if Richie had taken him up on his advice not to shower barefoot.

He imagined Richie was having fun away at camp, despite the less than hygienically ideal conditions. Richie wasn’t as petrified of that sort of thing as Eddie was, thanks to his mom, so Eddie figured it probably wasn’t a problem. 

He was probably having a great time. It was a comedy camp, after all, and Richie was constantly cracking jokes. It was probably fun for him to be around other people who were there for jokes, no chorus of beeping greeting him when he “got off a good one!”. Eddie could practically hear Richie’s stupid impressions in his mind, all of his dumb voices that made Eddie roll his eyes but smile anyways. He imagined Richie using them among a whole new group, showing off his sense of humor to a totally new audience. They would probably laugh, maybe roll their eyes - Richie was funny, Eddie had to admit, even if he pretended otherwise. 

He could picture Richie surrounded by friends at camp, cracking jokes, making them laugh. He would pull out his truly horrible British accent and say something dumb, and the kids around him would laugh. In Eddie’s mind, they all had perfect smiles, cool clothes that were more like Richie’s absurd fashion than Eddie’s polos, hair that fell neatly and perfectly without looking uptight. They would all grin together, Richie doing that pleased, wide smile that he so often did when he managed to get a genuine laugh out of the Losers. 

Eddie rolled onto his side, annoyed. He wanted Richie to be having fun, of course, but something about the mental image wouldn’t leave him alone. The idea of Richie giving that bright, dopey grin to someone else - someone other than the Losers, Eddie clarified in his mind - was strange. It wasn’t like Richie couldn’t smile at whoever he wanted, but the idea caused a feeling Eddie didn’t quite know how to identify to flit around the edges of his mind. 

It wasn’t comfortable, the idea of sharing that special grin, the stupid jokes. It sat like a weight on Eddie’s chest, not enough to hurt, but enough to make him squirm a little bit. It just didn’t sit right with him.

Eddie didn’t know why it was such a big deal - he’d literally invented this whole situation. What was he gonna do, get mad at these fake comedy camp kids for laughing at Richie’s jokes? Get mad at Richie for - in a situation that only existed in Eddie’s mind - smiling when his jokes landed? 

Eddie rolled his eyes at himself. He was being ridiculous and he knew it, but that didn’t stop the uncomfortable weight. He shook his head, as though that could dispel the image of the smiling figures in his mind, the ones who laughed with Richie and didn’t tell him to shut up and got that bright, broad smile—

“Ugh,” Eddie groaned, sitting up for the first time in a while, as if the weight was a physical thing that would slide off of him if he moved the right way. He huffed out a sigh, squeezing his eyes closed, and tried to force himself to think about anything else. 

It was a fruitless effort. Eddie mind seemed, as it occasionally was, stuck on Richie. It happened to him occasionally, where his brain just seemed to fixate on Richie’s laugh or his hair, or his terrible British accent, or the way he was always putting an arm around Eddie’s shoulders, no matter how Eddie complained about it. Sometimes it happened with his other friends, briefly, but with Richie it happened more. Eddie usually tried to shove the thoughts out of the way, since he didn’t need to be annoyed by Richie any more than he already was in real life. And besides, it always made him feel a little strange. Not quite queasy, not quite nervous, but not exactly pleasant, either. Eddie thought it was bit like stepping into the room of an indoor pool, like you’re suddenly too warm and the air is a bit too thick and the energy is just a little bit weird.

Eddie assumed it might be like that, anyways. He’d never been to an indoor pool - his mother would never let him, and he wasn’t complaining. The idea of it was enough to make him squirm; it was just a cesspool of germs and he had no desire to experience it firsthand.

In any case, he was feeling that way as he lai in bed - sort of strange, sort of annoyed, a little bit like his lungs were slightly too small. As much as he tried to think about something else - what he wanted to do when he finally saw his friends again on Tuesday, what he was gonna go later, what superpower he would have if he was a comic book character - nothing worked. Richie’s dumb glasses kept popping up in Eddie’s mind, his stupid voices shoving themselves into Eddie’s thoughts. 

Eddie knew he missed Richie, but this was just annoying. If Richie had been actually been sitting with Eddie, annoying him as much as the thoughts of Richie were, Eddie would’ve told him to shut up twenty times by now. 

Unfortunately, since Richie was still miles and miles away, Eddie could only try to shut up his own mind. 

He twisted around and threw himself back onto his bed, face first into his pillow. The image of Richie didn’t disappear, even though Eddie couldn’t see anything. 

“Fuck you, Tozier,” he mumbled into his pillow, marveling at Richie’s ability to annoy him even in a long distance scenario.

In his mind, Richie - sitting at a picnic table somewhere that Eddie assumed was what a summer camp might look like - stopped fiddling with something in his hands and grinned. Eddie imagined this was happening in real time, whatever Richie was actually doing: that somehow, despite the distance, he knew that he was annoying Eddie - and he loved it. 

Of course, that was a totally impossible idea. There was no greater universal balance to let Richie know that Eddie was thinking about him, or that even in Eddie’s head Richie was just as insufferable as he was in real life. It was a funny thought, though, Eddie ceded: Richie, mid camp activity, suddenly feeling some sort of cosmic alignment as Eddie buried his face in his pillow miles and miles away.

“Beep beep,” Eddie griped, irritated, turning his head slightly so his face was no longer in the pillow. In his mind, Richie gave a cheeky wink and let loose some sort of quip about frustrating Eddie in bed. 

Eddie didn’t know why his brain was concocting this fake Richie, or why he would say that, but he felt himself turn a little pink anyways. 

Before he could continue this riveting conversation with himself, he was shocked out of his own head by his mother yelling his name. The mental image of Richie dissolved in his mind, and Eddie found he was both disappointed and relieved. Shaking his head slightly once more as though to dislodge any remnants of the previous scene from his mind, Eddie hopped off of his bed and made his way towards the door. He stopped at the last second, turning to close his window before he left. Just in case; he didn’t need another reason for his mother to be mad at him.

“Eddie!” she called again, more insistently. 

“I’m _coming_,” he replied, yelling more loudly than he needed to. He crossed the room in a few quick stride and threw the door open, crossing into the hall in one smooth motion. He slammed his door shut behind him and flinched at the noise it made.

He paused for a moment at the top of the stairs, collecting himself. He wasn’t usually this angry, this easily irritated, but it had been a long five and a half days. 

After a deep breath, Eddie made his way downstairs. 

His mother was waiting in the kitchen this time, but Eddie couldn’t help but think of _that_ time: her voice from the living room, the swoop-drop of his stomach as they both saw the note on the table, the countertop digging into his back. He scratched at his wrist unconsciously. It had stopped hurting a few days ago, and the bruises were all but gone. 

He stepped into the kitchen, his mother standing at the stovetop. Without being asked, Eddie moved to the cabinets and grabbed two plates. With the other hand he pulled two napkins from the holder, turning to place them down first and the plates on top of them. After turning back to grab two cups, he gently closed the cupboard. He was extra careful not to slam it, keeping his irritation in check. 

Utensils were next, forks and knives placed in the proper spots, and then Eddie grabbed the pitcher of water from the fridge. While he was filling up his cup, his mother loudly set down the lid of the pot she’d been standing in front of and said, “Alright, Eddiebear! Bring me your plate.”

Eddie tried not to let it grate him - the name, or the fact that she still insisted on making up his plate. She was just being a mother. That was just what moms did. 

In any case, he handed his plate over to her, leaning one hip against the edge of the countertop.

Eddie watched as she grabbed a pair of tongs, reaching into the pot. 

“I made spaghetti,” she said, as though he couldn’t see the noodles that she’d just put on his plate. Eddie’s eyes nearly rolled all the way back in his head, because of _course_ they were having spaghetti. “It’s whole grain, you know that it’s supposed to be better for you. And the sauce has...”

Eddie tuned her out, because this was just his luck. The Richie in his mind’s eye was back, shooting him a stupid grin. 

“Hey, spaghetti man,” he said, and Eddie cursed whatever cruel power had made it so he couldn’t catch a break. He tried to force the mental image away, but as it had been earlier, his brain seemed simply stuck. This Richie was just as persistent as the one in real life, annoyingly so. 

“Eddie?” 

Eddie blinked, shifting away from the thought of his friend and back to reality. His mother was staring at him, concerned, his plate held between them. She’d added sauce while he’d been lost in his own head, and she was extending it to him as though she’s been trying to hand it to him and he’s been too zoned out to notice. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled, grabbing the plate. Richie’s smiling form was still in the back of his mind, and Eddie could hear his voice singing some sort of variant of “On Top of Spaghetti”, except with Eddie’s own name added in. Eddie almost snorted at it - he wasn’t sure if Richie had actually done that one yet, but the innuendo was exactly his style. 

“Eddie? Sweetheart, are you alright?”

Apparently, he’d stood there for too long again, lost in his head momentarily. His mother put one hand on Eddie’s cheek and Eddie tried not to flinch away. 

“You’re looking flushed. Are you feeling dizzy? Do you have a fever?” She was off and running now, having put down the tongs so she could feel Eddie’s forehead with one hand and squish his cheek with the other. She stared at him with a possessive concern, and Eddie felt his skin begin to crawl. “We can go to the doctor, I’m sure they could fit us in. You just look so awfully out of it, how are you feeling, sweetie?” 

“I’m - I’m fine,” Eddie said finally, cringing away from his mother’s flitting touch. He took a step back, and Sonia’s hands froze in midair, now touching the empty space Eddie had been occupying. “Really. I am.”

Sonia didn’t seem pleased. “Are you sure? It could be your blood pressure, have you eaten since—“

“It’s not,” Eddie cut in, trying to keep his voice pleasant, “my blood pressure. I feel _fine._ I was just...” he trailed off, not sure he wanted to say that he’d been thinking about how much he was missing Richie. “Thinking about my friends,” he finished, and he saw her expression shift into something slightly stormier. “Just wondering what they’re up to.”

He moved away from her, turning back to the table. He could hear her tsking behind him as he pulled out his chair and sat down, and he would’ve let it go - really! He was keeping his emotions in check! - if she hadn’t sat down in a huff and said, “I don’t see why.”

Eddie blinked, incredulous. “What?”

“Well, you’re here at home, aren’t you, Eddie dear? You’re recovering from your allergies,” she sniffed, “so I don’t see what it matters what your..._friends_ are doing.” 

Eddie heard the way she said the word “friends”, the way she always did: like she didn’t see why he needed them, like she disapproved. Eddie knew she did, but god, fuck that! He wanted to say so, but he reined himself in slightly, settling for, “Um, because I care about them?” 

It came out tinged with venom, and he watched as it washed over Sonia’s features. He saw the look change quickly, from irritated to angry to a dramatic, pathetic frown.

“Don’t you care about _me_?” she said, her voice a sad whine. “Why can’t you just be here at home, why does it always have to be about those - those miscreants! They don’t deserve you, Eddiebear, they don’t keep you safe and they don’t know how to help you, and—“

“God, Mom, why are you acting like this?”

Eddie was a little surprised to hear the words come out of his mouth, and he could see that they hit his mother like a slap to the face. He knew he should stop, say sorry, but he couldn’t keep the words from tumbling out. 

“I can care about all of you, it’s not one or the other! It’s _normal_ to have friends, and it’s normal not to be stuck in your own hellhole of a house all the time! And stop acting like they don’t care about me just because they’re not you,” he said, words picking up speed. “Just because they don’t freak out every time I get a bruise, or check my temperature every time I look a little flushed, or keep me stuck inside for a week” — his mother blanched at that, nostrils flaring — “doesn’t mean they don’t care! They care, and I care about them, and you’re just gonna have to deal with it,” he finished with a huff. 

His mother was staring at him from her space across the table, mouth gaping open like a fish, eyes bulging nearly out of their sockets.

“Edward!” she said, affronted, after several failed attempts to speak. “I-I can’t believe you would—“ she cut off with a hiccupy breath, tears filling her wide eyes. “This is because of those friends of yours! They’re such bad influences, they make you treat me like this.” She let out a horrible little mewling cry, bringing one large hand to cover her mouth. “It’s - it hurts me, Eddiebear. You can’t - you can’t keep this up, you—“

“Don’t,” Eddie said simply, although he thought he might throw up. He was surprised he could still speak, that he hadn’t resorted to sucking on his inhaler like an oxygen tank. 

“Don’t keep seeing these horrible kids, Eddie, haven’t we had a nice week? Just - just stay here,” she wailed. “Don’t you love me, Eddiebear? Can’t you see—“

“Don’t,” Eddie repeated, louder. “Don’t try to make me choose between you and my friends. It isn’t fair.” He suddenly felt both very small and very large, as if he were the adult and his mother were a child having a fit. It wasn’t right, what she was doing, and he knew it. He hated to hurt her, to see her cry like this, but he couldn’t keep letting her say awful things about his friends. He certainly wouldn’t leave his friends, the best friends he’d ever had, who he loved and who loved him, just because she asked him to. What sort of mother would ask that of their son, anyways?

Eddie shuddered back to reality to see his mother still crying, blabbering something incoherent. He felt sick, but he reached out a hand anyways and placed it on her arm. 

“Mommy.” 

She looked up, and Eddie was shocked to see that her eyes, though swimming with tears, were oddly cold. 

“I do love you,” he said, trying to keep his breathing steady. “You know I do.”

A bit of warmth came back into her watery eyes, but Eddie wasn’t done. 

“But y’know, my friends—“ Eddie floundered for a moment before forging ahead. “I love them too. They’re good people, Mommy, all of them: you know, Bill and Stan and Mike. Beverly and Ben. Richie.” 

Her eyes had been getting steadily colder as he went on, her tears giving way to a sort of hard expressionlessness that Eddie didn’t know how to interpret. He saw her lip curl with something akin to disgust, or maybe anger, or maybe both, as he finished listing all of his friends. It made his stomach drop through the floor.

He waited, but she didn’t seem to know what to say for once. 

“I’m going to hang out with my friends on Tuesday,” he said, finally. There was an air of finality to his words, or at least Eddie hoped there was. He didn’t know what he would do if his mother just said no, that it wasn’t happening, that he was going to stay home for an extra day or two or seven. 

Eddie glanced at his mother, who still wasn’t saying anything. She was staring at him, face a clouded mask. He didn’t know what he was expecting her to say to all of that. He knew what _she_ was expecting _him_ to say, though, and it wasn’t happening. He was sixteen - he’d let it go on long enough. There had to be a line, some point where he stopped letting her get away with acting like his friends were horrible people when in fact they had always treated him well, better than she had at some points.

Eddie wasn’t angry, he was surprised to realize, just a little bit tired. He hoped that she would finally come around, that this was all an elaborate misunderstanding. That maybe all she’d needed was for him to clarify this for her; defend his friends once, and her eyes would open and the haze of dislike would lift. After all, it wasn’t as though his mother was a bad person, either, Eddie reasoned with himself. 

He picked up his fork and knife, the silence so tense he felt he could have cut right into it. Instead, he twirled some spaghetti up, neat as he’d been taught, and popped it in his mouth. 

“Alright.”

Eddie blinked at his mother, mouth full of pasta. 

“Whuh—?” He usually tried not to talk with his mouth full of food, but this caught him off guard. 

“I said alright,” she huffed, picking up her own fork. “Don’t think you can just - just yell at me like that when you want things, but you can go out with your friends on Tuesday. Be back by dark,” she added, stabbing at her pasta. “And tell me where you’re going. Call me when you get there.”

Eddie almost rolled his eyes - he’d yelled at her? Yeah, right. And she said this like he’d _asked_ to go out with his friends, not told her he would be going. Of course she’d added her own caveats, too, never content to let Eddie be a normal teenager. Eddie squashed down his irritation, or tried to. This was progress, if somewhat stifled, and he would take what he could get. 

“Okay, Mommy,” he said simply. The tension in the room was still suffocating, but Eddie felt like he’d finally done something a long time coming. He had the sudden urge to tell Richie that he’d stood up for him - for all of their friends. Richie was always making jokes about Eddie’s mom, but Eddie also knew that Richie didn’t really like her. That he thought she was too hard on him, and Eddie got the feeling Richie knew how Sonia felt about their friends and him in particular. 

Richie would’ve been proud. 

The thought made Eddie feel warm. A small smile bloomed on his face; he hid it with another forkful of pasta, and he didn’t think that whole grain spaghetti had ever tasted so sweet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hellooooo again! hope you liked this chapter, sure is strange that eddie can't stop thinking about richie, huh? weird! 
> 
> leave a comment if you wanna, it would make me ever so happy :')
> 
> in the meantime, visit me on [tumblr!](choking-onholywater.tumblr.com)


	5. comic books (and other ways to pass the time)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a loooong one, settle in! there's some discussion of abuse near the end, just so you know

Eddie woke up suddenly - or at least, he thought he did. He kept his eyes closed, resisting the urge to open them, not wanting to be wrong again. 

He could hear a bird somewhere in the area, and he wondered what sort of bird it was. He thought that Stan would know - Stan was always able to tell them just from hearing it what kind of bird it was. The bird called again, and Eddie listened even though he had no way of identifying it, nowhere near as knowledgable as Stan. He thought it might be close enough that he would have been able to see it from his window if he got up to check, but he couldn’t see much of anything at the moment. Just the shadows and the blobs, all the murky, orangish gray color of the inside of his eyelids. 

He kept his eyes squeezed tight and, under his blankets, moved his hand to pinch his thigh — yeah, okay. He was definitely awake for real this time. 

Opening his eyes wide, Eddie was flooded with a rush of excitement at the pale light filtering through his window. He’d had a restless night, nothing like his marathon sleep of a few days prior. He kept waking up, thinking it was morning, being disappointed when it wasn’t. He’d even had a dream where he’d woke up and gotten dressed, left his house, and - well, he wasn’t really sure anymore. The details were foggy now, but it had all felt so _real_. He’d been both frustrated and upset when he’d woken up and it was still dark, the only light coming from the red glow of his alarm clock mockingly informing him that it was just a little after three in the morning.

Seeing the sunlight streaming through the window now, the starry blackness that had taunted him every time he’d turned towards his window that night finally dispelled by the morning sunshine, was a beautiful thing. Eddie couldn’t help the grin that had found its way into his sleep addled features - it was finally, _finally_ Tuesday morning. 

Eddie turned onto his side, rubbing his eyes. A glance at his clock told him that it was 8:30 - later than he’d expected, but he still had hours to kill before he’d be leaving the house. 

Just thinking the phrase made him giddy. It had been a grueling 40 hours since he’d snapped at his mother over dinner. The rest of the meal had been tense, understandably so. They had eaten mostly in heavy silence; Eddie had tried a few times to start a conversation, but she’d totally shut down. It had been almost scary, definitely uncomfortable, and Eddie had excused himself as soon as he was done. He hadn’t been able to take care of his plate fast enough, practically flying out of the room and down the hall. He’d been able to feel his mother’s gaze burning into him as he left, and he’d taken the stairs two at a time - a much more complex feat considering, as Richie loved to point out, he wasn’t exactly tall.

By the time he’d gotten back up to his room, he was practically breathless: he’d really stood up to her. He’d stood up to her, and defended his friends, and holy _shit_! He’d wanted to tell someone - anyone, but Richie most of all. But with no one around, he’d simply laid on his bed and grinned up at the ceiling, feeling weightless despite the tension that was resting across the entire house. 

The next day, he’d called Bill around noon. His father had picked up after one ring. 

_“Hello?” _

_Eddie was standing by the phone, twisting the chord around one finger. His mother was outside, taking care of something in their back garden - not that there was much to take care of, Eddie though privately. His mother wasn’t the best at taking care of things and helping them grow, so their flowerbeds often ended up dead from either overwatering or total neglect by the time it was August._

_“Hi, is Bill there? It’s Eddie,” Eddie said when he heard the voice through the phone._

_“Eddie...” Bill’s dad said it like he was trying to match the name to a face. Eddie wondered if he should try to clarify who he was, but before he could open his mouth, the man said, “Oh! Eddie! It’s been a while, kid, how are you?”_

_“I’m fine,” Eddie said, smiling. “Could you put Bill on, please?”_

_“Sure, sure,” he said. The line went muffled - Eddie assumed that Mr. Denbrough had covered the transmitter with his hand. He could vaguely hear what sounded like Bill’s name being yelled. After a moment, the muffling went away, and Bill’s dad said, “Just one minute.”_

_“Thank you,” Eddie said politely. _

_There was a slight shuffling, and then—_

_“He-hello?” _

_Eddie grinned at the sound of Bill’s voice on the other end. _

_“Hey, Bill.”_

_“Eddie!” Eddie could hear the pleasant surprise in Bill’s tone, and it only made him grin harder. “Where have you b-been?” _

_Eddie sighed, feeling slightly guilty for not calling sooner to let any of his friends know what was going on. _

_“Stuck at home,” he said finally. “My mom realized I snuck out the other day and totally flipped her shit.” _

_“You suh-snuck out?” Bill asked, worry tinging his words. Eddie mentally slapped a hand to his forehead - he’d forgotten that he hadn’t told his friends he’d had to sneak out of the house to meet them at the Barrens that day. It wasn’t like they minded him sneaking out for any moral reason, of course, but they all knew how his mom worried._

_“It’s no big deal, Bill,” Eddie said quickly. “Besides, I wasn’t calling to tell you that. What are you guys doing tomorrow?” Eddie didn’t have to clarify that by “you guys” he meant Bill and the rest of their friends. His calling Bill to get in on plans wasn’t anything new; Bill usually knew what was going on, and he was always the first one Eddie called on to find out._

_“We’re just going down to the Buh-Barrens,” he said. “Are you gonna be able to come?” he asked excitedly. _

_“Mhm,” Eddie said, smiling into the receptor. He briefly considered telling Bill about how he’d defended the Losers to his mother and took a stand about going out to see them, but decided against it. It didn’t feel like something to say over the phone, and besides, Eddie sort of wanted Richie to be the first to know, even if that would take a while. It just felt right, after all the times he’d encouraged Eddie to stand up for himself. _

_“Normal time?” Eddie asked then, glancing out the window. He could see his mom standing up, and he wasn’t in the mood for her to interrogate him about using the phone._

_“Yeah,” Bill said. “We—“_

_“Sorry, Bill!” Eddie cut in. “I gotta go, see you guys tomorrow!”_

He hadn’t waited for a reply before slamming the phone down and bolting from the room. He was safely at the top of the stairs by the time he’d heard the door open signifying that his mother was back in the house. 

Eddie rolled over again onto his back with a contented sigh. The “usual time” meant there would probably be people there by 11:30 or so; Eddie was already planning on getting there early. He didn’t care if he just had to sit in the clubhouse by himself for an hour and read comic books or something while he waited for his friends to get there. Anything was better than being at home for any extra amount of time. 

With that in mind, he figured he had a little under two hours to kill until he could get on his bike and head down towards the Barrens. 

Two more hours - that was all. It felt like a lifetime, but Eddie tried to reassure himself that it would go quickly. He still had to get up and get changed, maybe even take a shower if he felt like it. He’d eat breakfast, too, and with his luck he’d get stuck in another tense conversation with his mother; Eddie figured with all that, he could fill up two hours. 

Besides, he wasn’t quite ready to get out of bed yet. He felt pretty sure that his mother wouldn’t try to get him up; she’d been uncharacteristically frigid since Sunday, giving him the most space he could ever remember having. It was nice to have some room to breathe for a change, but Eddie felt like he was walking on eggshells, like one wrong move would send the whole house up in flames and he’d be stuck inside then, too. It was exhausting, and he was glad for the chance just to lay in bed and do nothing for a bit longer.

Eddie stared up at his ceiling, letting his head loll to the side so his chin was resting on his shoulder. He could peer out his window from this angle, although he couldn’t see much. Mostly just the sky, pale blue and bright with morning sunlight. He could see a few trees too, green and brilliant with summer foliage. It was a nice view, one that Eddie simply laid in bed and enjoyed for several comfortable minutes.

When that got boring, Eddie sat up, letting the sheets fall down to his waist. He stretched his arms up over his head and yawned, rolling out his neck, before swinging his legs over the edge of bed. 

Breakfast first, he decided, and then he could get dressed. 

He padded over to his door and opened it quietly, moving down the stairs with the comfortable ease of someone who had done the same thing thousands of times before. He paused at the foot of the stairs as usual, listening, but he heard nothing. He glanced at his wrist, but he hadn’t put his watch on yet; he’d guess that it was a little before nine. It would be pretty typical for his mother to be awake, but it was also possible for her to be asleep still. Eddie strained his ears for another moment and, still hearing nothing, began to walk down the hall; he seriously hoped it was the latter. 

The TV was off, a welcome change from its usual unending drone. Eddie crept through the living room and towards the doorway to the kitchen. He could see the front door from where he stopped, but couldn’t see into the next room.

After taking a moment for an eyes-closed, please-let-this-work-out deep breath, Eddie stepped through the doorway. Relief flooded him as he realized the kitchen was empty, which meant his mom was still asleep. He walked over to the cabinet and yanked it open, reaching up to grab the yellow box on the top shelf. He grabbed a bowl next and poured some Cheerios in, folding the bag up carefully and clipping it closed afterwards so they wouldn’t go stale. 

Eddie replaced the box and then stood, considering whether to stay in the kitchen and eat or go back up to his room. He didn’t want to have his mother come down while he was eating, if he could avoid it, but he also wasn’t really supposed to eat in his room. 

After a moment of deliberation, Eddie shrugged, grabbing the bowl. It was’t like taking some Cheerios upstairs was the biggest thing his mother was worrying about when it came to him. What was one more little thing to add to the tension? And besides, he could always wash the bowl himself and put it back later; she wouldn’t even have to know at all.

He popped a few Cheerios in his mouth as he headed back down the hall and up the stairs, slowing as he got to the top so he could avoid making any squeaking sounds as he stepped. He pushed open the door to his room gently, shutting it behind him with the doorknob still turned to avoid the deafening “click” of the mechanism slipping into place.

“Well that was surprisingly easy,” Eddie mumbled to himself, heading towards his desk. 

He set the bowl on the desk and pulled out the chair, settling into it a moment later. He might be willing to break the rules and eat in his room, but he wasn’t about to eat _in_ his bed. The thought of crumbs between his sheets was enough to make him shudder, and he glanced at his Cheerios distrustfully before dropping a few more into his mouth.

As he reached for another handful, he heard the telltale squeak of the door down the hall that meant his mother was awake. Eddie felt his heartbeat pick up a bit; he was lucky he’d gone to get breakfast when he had, because a few minutes later and he would’ve been down there right then. He sat still as he listened to her footsteps move down the hall, pause, and then go down the stairs. He let out a breath as she reached the floor below, relieved that he’d so perfectly timed his breakfast. 

He stared idly out the window as he ate his cereal, watching the wind ripple through the trees in the morning sunshine. It was nice, just to sit and look outside, knowing he would be out there soon enough. Not just out there, Eddie thought, grinning, but out there with his _friends_. 

After a while, he finished his cereal. He decided to leave the bowl on his desk for now - he could hear the television downstairs, so it wasn’t a good time to try to put it back. 

It _was_ a good time, Eddie decided, to get dressed. He stood up, stretched again, then headed towards his dresser. 

Pulling open the drawer, he glanced outside. It looked pretty sunny out, so he didn’t think it would rain. That was good; he would hate for it to pour and for him to have to go home, or have his mother interrogate him about getting pneumonia or something after getting wet. Eddie shook his head, rifling through his shorts. 

His hands settled on the red ones - Richie always said they were too short, like they were missing the bottom half. He also said that Eddie was also short enough to be missing half of himself, so maybe it all worked out. Eddie rolled his eyes, grabbing the shorts. Richie wouldn’t be there to make comments of any kind about them, of course, but the memory made Eddie smile - though he’d never admit that to Richie - so he decided to wear them anyways. 

He pulled a t-shirt from the closet, tossing it and the shorts onto his bed. He tugged the shirt he’d slept in off over his head and yanked the clean one on, changing out of his pajama shorts and into the bright red ones as well. One more trip to his dresser for socks, and he was dressed. 

After moving the empty bowl under his blankets on the bed, just in case his mother should go into his room before he got the chance to put it away, Eddie headed for the door. Twisting the knob and pulling slowly, Eddie inched the door open just enough to see a sliver of the hallway. He could hear the television, on as usual, but that didn’t mean much. He stood for another moment, straining his ears, and then heard it: the clatter of a plate in the kitchen, which meant his mother was safely occupied downstairs. 

With that established, Eddie slipped out of his room, closing the door as he did so. He walked to the bathroom in a few hurried steps, shutting the door behind him when he got inside. 

He moved to stand in front of the sink, reaching out first to twist the faucet on. He washed his face, just splashing some cool water on it, then reached for his toothbrush. As he scrubbed away at his mouth, he used his other hand to smooth away the bedhead from his hair. His hair didn’t usually get too messy overnight, and today was no different. There were still some unruly curls beginning to stick up, which Eddie smoothed out carefully. His hair had begun to curl a few years ago, gentle waves forming from what had previously been smooth strands. It didn’t help that his hair was getting longer; he was almost due for a haircut, he mused. His mother preferred for it to be kept short, so the curls barely showed, but Richie insisted that letting the curls grow out made Eddie look “less like a weird little nerd dwarf”, so Eddie wasn’t in a rush to get it cut. Even Bev, who Eddie thought to be very fashionable, agreed with Richie that his hair looked nice this way. She never said it the same way he did, though, usually opting for a much more normal “It suits you”. 

Eddie spat out the toothpaste, pleasantly surprised by the tiny bits of red in the foam; the slight stinging in his gums felt like a confirmation that he’d done a good enough job, that his mouth was clean. He knew of course that there were always billions of bacteria living in his mouth, but at least this gave the illusion of some sense of control over what was going on in there. 

He pushed the thought away with a shudder as he opened the door, walking back out into the hall. Just because he was getting better with germs didn’t mean he had to like thinking about it. He found himself running his tongue over his teeth absentmindedly as he walked towards his bedroom, as though he’d be able to feel the tiny bacteria on them. 

Eddie reached his room a few moments later, quietly stepping inside. Open the bedroom door, slip in, close the door - a familiar routine. 

A glance at his clock, once he’d shut the door behind him, informed him that it was almost quarter to ten o’clock.

Eddie let out a groan as he moved towards his bed. He pulled the sheets and blankets into a somewhat “made” state before flopping down on top of them, wishing time would move faster. He had an overwhelming sense of deja vu as he laid there - legs off the edge of the bed, head resting against his folded arms, willing his clock to move faster. He resisted the urge to lift his head and look at his wrist for the time; he wasn’t even wearing his watch yet, he realized again, so it would be pointless. 

A moment later, Eddie rolled over and stood up off the bed. It had been about five minutes, he observed as he grabbed his watch from where it sat on his dresser. Five agonizingly slow minutes, he mused, buckling the band in place around his wrist. He thought briefly of the ring of sore, lightly bruised skin he’d had around that same wrist days ago, the thought passing almost as soon as it appeared. He didn't have anything better to think about, but he didn’t intend to start thinking about that again. 

Turning away from his dresser, Eddie scanned his bedroom for something to do to pass the time. It felt like he’d exhausted every possible source of entertainment over the past week; he’d resorted to reorganizing his dresser the day before, folding all of the clothes neatly and putting them away in a careful configuration that surely wouldn’t last. It hadn’t been fun, exactly, but it had taken almost two hours, for which Eddie had been grateful. 

The problem with cleaning your drawers out, though, was that you could only do it once - unless Eddie wanted to unfold and refold all of the already neat clothes, he’d have to find something else to occupy his time. 

Sighing, Eddie grabbed one of the comic books off of his desk. He’d read it twice that week already, but there wasn’t much else to do. He flopped back down onto his bed, feet resting where his head should be, and opened the comic book.

Focusing on reading was a useless endeavor. Eddie kept checking the time, alternating between looking at his watch and his alarm clock as if they would tell him different things. He stared out the window, wishing he was outside, then snapped back to reality and read a panel or two of the comic. He would read a page and flip to the next one only to realize he hadn’t actually taken in anything on the previous page, so he’d flip back and read it again. He couldn’t get comfortable as he tried to make the time pass faster, rolling over to his stomach and then sitting up with his back against the headboard and then laying down again. 

Look at the clock, read a panel, stare out the window, shift positions, reread the same panel; repeat ad infinitum. 

That cycle was how Eddie found himself, at half past ten o’clock, only three quarters of the way through his comic book. He had, after all of his shifting and moving around, somehow ended up laying off the side of his bed; he was laying on his back, his knees bent. The higher part of his back, and the rest of him above that, was hanging off the edge of the mattress bending towards the floor. The upper third of his body was entirely upside down, his hair hanging down towards the floor. 

Laying off of the bed like that, world tipped on its head, wasn’t exactly productive. It made all the blood rush to Eddie’s head, and his neck started to hurt if he stayed that way for too long. Still, it was sort of fun - inverting the room around him made it seem almost new, even if he’d seen more of his bedroom walls in the past week than he ever wanted to again. And besides, the head rush of hanging upside down like that was at least something different, even if Eddie was always gripped by the nagging fear that maybe this time the dizziness wouldn’t go away when he sat up, that maybe this time he’d let all the blood pool in his skull for too long and he’d caused brain damage or given himself some sort of concussion or was half way to a stroke or some other terrible condition. 

Eddie sat up quickly, hands gripping his blanket tightly. His heart was beating a bit fast, and he was dizzy from the sudden inversion. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply. It would pass, he reassured himself. It always did, there’s nothing to freak out about, Eddie, just calm down—

And then it was gone. He felt all but back to normal, the last moment’s dizziness just a faint memory. 

He let out a breath, wrapping his arms around his legs. He rested his forehead against his knees, still breathing slowly. He could still feel his heart beating just a little too fast to be comfortable. He let out a little sigh, breath hot in the space made between his legs and his chest; all this over a stupid head rush he’d felt a hundred times before, he thought bitterly. 

For just a moment, with his knees hugged to his chest and his eyes squeezed closed, Eddie hated himself for it.

He felt like the longer he spent cooped up with his mother, the more he panicked about things like that. It was like being around her strengthened the little nervous voice in Eddie’s head that sounded so much like her, the one that always saw the worst in everything and was sure a terminal diagnosis was around every corner. 

He couldn’t wait to get out of the house.

Forcing his eyes open, Eddie uncurled his arms from around his knees. He placed his hand on either side of him instead, leaning back on his palms as he brought his knees away from chest and instead sat criss-crossed. His comic book was sitting next to him, hastily having been thrown to the side in his rush to sit up. Eddie grabbed for it and closed it, smoothing out the pages that had been bent when he’d tossed it to the side with a frown; he hated when the pages got creased. 

Satisfied that there was no irreparable damage done, Eddie opened back up to the page he’d been on before. He wasn’t really interested in what was going on - after all, he’d already read that issue more times than he could remember. Even so, he figured he should finish it; it would kill some extra time, and he liked to finish reading comics all at once, anyways.

He stayed that way, sitting criss cross on his bed, facing the wall, for another fifteen minutes as he read the rest of the comic book. He didn’t let himself gaze out the window or check the time; he just looked resolutely at the printed pages in front of him, determined to finish reading. 

Once he was done, he decided, he would leave. Who cared if got to the Barrens early? Certainly not Eddie. He was more than willing to sit there and wait by himself if it meant getting out of his house sooner. He was more than ready to leave, especially after his small moment of panic earlier - his friends kept him grounded, didn’t let him get stuck in his own head. He needed that.

After finishing the last page (it ended the same way it had the last what, fifteen times Eddie had read the comic?), Eddie spun around and practically threw himself off of the bed. He set the comic book on his dresser, making sure to set it flat, then bounded towards the door. Sitting there reading had been torture - he’d wanted nothing more than to get up and bolt, but he supposed it was a good thing that he’d killed an extra fifteen minutes. 

Eddie didn’t bother hiding his footfalls as he hurried down the stairs, getting more and more excited about the prospect of finally leaving the house the closer he got to the bottom. Each step down the hall was one step closer to the bright, warm summer air, to their clubhouse, to his friends, to some _freedom, _finally—

Eddie turned the corner into the kitchen and stopped, his stomach falling through his body and down into the floor. There at the table was his mother, looking as though she’d been waiting for him. 

Eddie watched as her eyes flicked over him quickly - whether she was doing a cursory glance for any sort of medical problems or simply observing that he was already dressed and evidently leaving Eddie didn’t know. She was obviously unhappy with whatever she found when she looked at him; her face twisted slightly as though she’d just smelled something unpleasant.

“Eddiebear,” she said, and nothing more. She was positioned between Eddie and the door, her chair pulled away from the table enough that Eddie would have to go out of his way to walk around her. He swallowed thickly.

“Mommy,” he replied, shifting his weight from foot to foot. 

“Where’s your meds?” she asked, voice all sugar. Eddie could feel the stormy energy radiating from her, at odds with her saccharine tone. He felt a little sick, suddenly, but he knew he couldn’t show it. 

“Upstairs. I - I thought I would just leave them here today. I took my medicine this morning,” he lied, thinking of his fanny pack left untouched. He hadn’t exactly meant to not take his pills - it had simply slipped his mind, just like not putting on his fanny pack at all hadn’t been a conscious choice. The flash of irritation on his mother’s face almost made Eddie wish it had been, though, and the heat of rebellion flooded his veins anyways. 

“So now you’re going to be out there,” she said slowly, eyes narrowing, “doing god knows what, with those–“ she paused, seemingly trying to compose herself. “Those friends of yours,” she said after a moment. Her tone was even, but Eddie didn’t miss the way that her eye twitched when she said it. “And you’re not even going to take your medication? Your aspirator? What if you have an asthma attack?” she demanded. 

Eddie opened his mouth to reply, but she wasn’t done. 

“Are you trying to punish me, Eddiebear? Are you angry at me? I thought we were having such a nice week until - until you said all those _things_ to me at dinner, and I—“ she sniffed, beady eyes beginning to look glassy. “Are you trying to hurt me, not taking your meds with you, not telling me where you’re going, what you’re doing? How am I supposed to take _care_ of you like this? If you won’t even take your medicine, if you wont even...” She trailed off, her lips puckering with the effort of not crying. 

“I’ll be fine, Mommy,” Eddie said, the spark of rebellion still simmering in his gut. “You know, my friends take care of me too. I told you that.”

“Not like I can,” she snapped, a moment of anger breaking through her tearful expression.

Eddie was taken aback, but he couldn’t help almost rolling his eyes. Of course his friends didn’t take care of him like her - they were his friends, not his mother. They only worried when they needed to, which Eddie personally thought was more helpful than the constant fretting when he was at home. All he said was, “They don’t need to be like you.”

A look of something dark flashed across Sonia’s face. 

“So you’re just going to go out there and have an asthma attack, have an episode, pass out, get hurt? And I’m just supposed to believe that your friends”—she didn’t keep the contempt out of her tone so well that time—“will help you? I’m just supposed to sit here and not know where you are, not know what you’re doing, just hoping they don’t leave you somewhere if you start to have an asthma attack or if your allergies—“

“They would never, ever do that!” Eddie exploded, tired of listening. “They wouldn’t! You don’t need to know this, but Bill keeps an inhaler in his bag for me at school. He has it when we hang out, too, just in case I need it and I don’t have mine.” Eddie knew he should stop, but he couldn’t seem to keep the words in. “And you think they would what, just leave me somewhere if I got hurt? Just ditch me in whatever awful place I happened to get stuck? God, it’s - it’s like you’ve never had friends!” 

His mother looked as though she’d been slapped. Her shock quickly gave way to a wave of something else, something angry, and Eddie unconsciously tensed his shoulders as though preparing for a blow.

“Edward Kaspbrak, how _dare_ you,” she breathed, chest heaving. Her eyes were narrow slits, her face reddening. Eddie noticed suddenly that his heart was beating fast, pounding in his ears so loudly it was a wonder that he could even hear his mother speak. 

“I—you—“ she sputtered, practically shaking. She seemed to be at a loss, huffing and spitting out half words for several moments before she found her voice. 

“So you’re just trying to hurt me, then? Why are you doing this to me Eddiebear,” she wailed, “I’m only trying to keep you _safe, _it’s those other kids that are going to hurt you.” She was rambling by that point, and Eddie once again felt strangely old as he watched her anger and grief fight for dominance on her pudgy features. “It hurts _me_ when you leave to go do - do all sorts of dangerous things, they don’t deserve you, you're better off with me, not them, just stay, just _stay_,” she pleaded, her voice somewhere between a whine and a sob, her face somehow stormy and sad all at once. It was sort of piteous, Eddie thought, and the thought surprised him. 

That surprise was enough to set him into motion. 

“I’m sorry,” he said measuredly, struggling not to let it show in his voice how fast his heart was pounding, how sick he felt. He crept forward, his mother’s teary eyes boring into him with every step. He was practically next to her in a few short steps, skirting to the side to move between her and the countertop. 

“Don’t go,” she said, voice thick with some horrible mixture of emotions. She reached out a hand as though to grab Eddie’s arms as he walked by, but Eddie wouldn’t be caught the same way twice. He jerked his arm out of the way, goosebumps appearing on his flesh where her fingers brushed the skin of his elbow instead. 

“I told you not to make me choose,

Eddie said, breath unsteady. He took another step forward, his mother craning around in her chair to continue to watch him as he did so. He held his arm close to his chest; it made him think of when he’d broken his arm when he was younger and had been in a cast for most of the summer. He’d held it the same way then, tight to his chest like he needed to protect it - this time, not from Bowers, but from his mother. He felt a little sick at the comparison. 

“I told you not to make me _choose_,” he repeated, taking a few stumbling steps towards the door. The ground felt unsteady beneath him suddenly, and a part of him wanted to sit down and stay just so his mother would get him his inhaler and soothe him and stop crying and fix everything. As though she could, Eddie thought bitterly. “But now, right now, I’m choosing my friends.” 

It came out all in one breath, and then Eddie was at the door, the doorknob cool under in his clammy palm. “I’ll be back - later,” he said breathlessly, yanking the door open. 

His mother seemed to realize he was really leaving, her face growing even darker, more blood somehow rushing to her face. She jerked around to face him, and Eddie almost froze at the look on her face - it was angry, dark, _scary_. Eddie thought he might cry, or throw up, so he simply turned and threw himself out the door before he could do either. 

“I always knew you’d me leave, Eddie!” 

He could hear his mother screaming after him as he hurled his body down the steps, around to the side of the house. He could feel the cereal he’d eaten earlier threatening to make a reappearance, but he didn’t have time for that. He didn’t even have time to appreciate the fresh air, the sunshine, all the things he’d been yearning for. He half ran, half stumbled towards the street, dragging his bike with him as fast as he could. 

He swung his leg up over his bike, practically overshooting and toppling over entirely. He only stopped his forward motion for the moment it took to get his feet situated on the pedals, and then he shoved off against them. The bike, trusty as always, rolled into motion. Eddie didn’t even pause to let it waver, to wonder whether he would fall. He already felt like he was falling, like he’d left his insides back in the kitchen where he imagined he could still hear his mother crying and yelling even as his house grew further and further away. 

Eddie pedaled like his life depended on it, straining to put his house as far behind him as he possibly could. He didn’t think, didn’t plan - just pedaled, hard and fast against the pavement. The air whipped against his face, burned icy cold down his throat, but never quite reaching his lungs. He felt like he was suffocating, his lungs and his legs screaming out in unison for him to stop, or to slow down, but Eddie couldn’t. He didn’t know if he would move again if he stopped, or if he would just melt into a useless puddle and never be able to get up again.

And so he pedaled, heart bursting out of his throat, lungs burning. He realized belatedly that the air pulling at his clothes, whipping through his hair, pushing against him with every push of his feet against the pedals, felt so cool on his face because at some point he’d started to cry. The few tears that had rolled down his cheeks left icy cool fingerprints as they dried in the wind, just as the sweat began to form on Eddie’s skin and do the same. He felt hot and cold all at once, dizzy and breathless and absolutely suffocated as he tore down the streets of Derry, around corners and past the familiar shapes of the buildings. If he passed other people he didn’t know it; he didn’t see anything at all as he pedaled, gasping, _choking_, though the streets. He wasn’t even sure he was _going_ anywhere - it certainly didn’t occur to him that he should be. This wasn’t a journey towards something; it was a frantic, overwhelming fleeing _from_ something. 

It wasn’t until he was already throwing his bike down that Eddie even realized he’d steered himself to the Barrens, even in his blind, frantic rush. He dragged his bike over to the edge of the trees, dropping it there as opposed to pulling it with him through the trees. 

Despite his lungs still screaming for rest and the wooziness in his head, Eddie found himself moving quickly towards the clubhouse. He was walking first, then awkwardly half stumbling in a sort of speed walk, and then he was running, sprinting through the trees like he was being chased. And maybe in a way he was; he felt as though if he stopped he would turn around and his mother would be there, ready to take him back home, to drag him through the streets by his wrist if she had to—

Eddie picked up the pace, running blindly between the trees. He felt like a child afraid of the dark, like he was running down the long hall between the bathroom and his bedroom at night, like a hundred monsters were on his heels, like he was small and there was nothing to do but run. 

“Fuck!“

Eddie pitched forward, his foot getting caught on the root of a tree. He slammed into the dirt, his knees crashing painfully into a rock as his hands crushed into the soil, scraping against stones and sticks there. 

Eddie rolled over, breathless, eyes wide. He didn’t actually expect to see anything chasing him, did he? And yet still, that sense of terror still clung to his skin, even as he frantically observed that it was just him and the trees. 

Scrambling to his feet, Eddie took off again running towards where he knew the door of the clubhouse to be. He reached it a minute later, pulling the hatched door open with enough force that it sent a jolt of pain through his shoulder. He didn’t pause, desperate to get into the clubhouse; he felt sure that whatever imaginary or real force was chasing him wouldn’t be able to get him there.

He threw himself into the opening, foot missing the ladder. A jolt of pure terror flooded through him as he scrambled for purchase to avoid tumbling down; his foot caught on the second slat just as his hand fixed itself around a rock. After taking half a moment for a shaky breath, Eddie was clambering down the later. He reached out and grasped the handle to the hatch, and - like a child pulling the blankets back over their head to protect them from the boogieman that had chased them down the hallway in the night - slammed it closed. The other openings, the windows, as they usually called them, were open enough that Eddie could still see, even with the door closed. He half climbed, half fell the rest of the way down the ladder, landing awkwardly at the bottom.

It was only then that Eddie let himself lose momentum, allowing gravity pull him down to the ground in a heap at the bottom of the ladder. 

He was breathing so heavily he almost felt like he wasn’t breathing at all, like his chest was rising and falling but his lungs weren’t connected anymore, or were gone entirely. He wished he had his inhaler, wished he didn’t want it. He felt sick, laying there on the dirt floor of the clubhouse, like he was hollow and the only thing left in him was the cereal about to be right on the ground next to him. 

Eddie forced himself to lift his head, looking around the clubhouse for the trash can he knew had to be around somewhere. There, in the corner - Eddie crawled towards it, reaching out weakly to pull it towards him. He wouldn’t have bothered, except that they would hardly have been able to wash the ground if he got sick. He knew that, even then, as his mind felt a million miles away. 

Held to the ground by equal forces of exhaustion and a horrible, wired energy, Eddie dragged himself and the trash can along the ground so he could lean his back against one of the wooden support beams. His chest ached like nothing he’d ever known - it had been ages since he’d pushed that hard, maybe he never had before. He couldn’t catch his breath, each attempt to breathe in tearing through his lips and crashing into his lungs like a painful icy slice through his chest. He felt like he couldn’t get any air to get to the bottom of his lungs, his chest expanding and collapsing uselessly, painfully. 

Eddie pulled his knees to his chest and, much like earlier, wrapped his arms around them, leaving the trash can next to him. He turned his face so his cheek was against his knee, his nose squishing uncomfortably against his other leg. He found he didn't care.

As he sat there, arms wrapped around himself, fingernails digging into the flesh of his arms, he felt something come loose. His breaths changed from ragged, aching attempts at breathing to horrible, rippling sobs. They tore through his body, his aching chest collapsing with the force of them, tearing back open with each shuddering, weak excuse for a breath. Eddie didn’t make a sound as he cried, mouth agape in a silent sob as his shoulders shook. He could feel the tears leaking out of his eyes, clinging to his lashes, dripping down over his nose and rolling down his face to seep into the space between his cheek and his knee. 

He stayed that way, his own arms the only thing holding him together there on the dirt floor, for what felt like hours. Eddie had no concept of time as he struggled to breathe, trying to fend off the combined effects of his manic bike ride and the sobs that had rippled through him. He’d stopped crying, or at least he’d stopped shaking with tears. His limbs felt like lead, his head full of cotton, and still he simply sat there curled up around himself. 

He had no idea how long he’d been sitting there when he heard it: a slight creak, and then in poured the sounds of birds and the late morning sunshine. 

Eddie’s breath caught in his throat, and he snapped his head up to stare at the sudden opening that had appeared. He had the urge to run - why? Where would he go? Who did he think he was running from?

He knew he should get up, should fix his hair, wipe his eyes, try to look like he was fine, but he couldn’t find it in himself to do anything but stare as a form appeared in the opening. He stared, unblinking, as single booted foot swung itself onto the ladder, and then a second. A moment later, the rest of the person the feet were attached to appeared, climbing down the ladder much more carefully than Eddie had earlier. 

Bev landed on the ground gracefully despite the fact that she’d opted to jump from the ladder instead of taking the last two rungs. She gazed up for a moment - Eddie assumed at the sky, or the trees, or perhaps a bird was flying by - before turning away. 

“Shit!” 

Her eyes widened when she saw Eddie on the ground, jumping slightly. 

“Jesus, Eddie, I didn’t expect anyone to—hey, you’re bleeding,” she said, voice full of concern. 

Was he? Eddie suddenly became aware of a burning pain on his knees and the palms of his hands - that was right, he realized. He’d fallen earlier, on his way to the clubhouse. There were two bright red patches of raw skin on his legs, one on each knee, and a spattering a tiny, oozing scratches on his palms. A few drops of blood had rolled down his leg, dripping into his arm and pooling there. 

“Hey,” was all Eddie said in reply, but it came out more like a mucus filled cough. 

Bev crouched on the ground next to him. Her hands were held between them, as though she wanted to reach out and make sure he was okay, but didn’t know if she should. Eddie could read the concern in her face as clearly as if it was written there, could tell how badly she wanted to take care of him. 

It made him think of his mother, but – no, it really didn’t. This care wasn’t suffocating, wasn’t stormy or commanding or oppressive. This was just Bev, his friend, who wanted to help him.

“What _happened_?” She said after a moment, voice soft. She was looking at Eddie, really looking, and Eddie wondered what she saw. He was sure he was a mess, what with his frantic bike ride and falling in the woods and crying on a dirt floor for however long it had been, but she didn’t seem like she was judging him. 

“I fell,” Eddie said simply, knowing she was asking much more than just why he was bleeding but not knowing where else to start. 

Bev let out a breathy sigh, blinking slowly. “I’m gonna get you some bandaids, okay?” 

She waited for Eddie to nod before she moved, and Eddie couldn’t help but think about how different it was from when his mother took care of him. It was never about what he wanted, or waiting to see if he was okay with whatever she thought she should come next. Hers was a possessive manner, an overpowering, smothering care that Eddie detested. Bev was nothing like that, humming softly as she dug around for the plastic bag that served as their first aid kit down in the clubhouse.

She came back to his side a minute later, the first aid kit in one hand a box of tissues in the other, which she handed to him wordlessly. Eddie accepted them gratefully, scrubbing at his eyes and nose. 

“Is it okay if I—?” Bev trailed off, holding up a bandage. 

“Yeah.” Eddie felt sort of embarrassed, like he should be doing this for himself, but there was something soothing in the gentle care with which Bev cleaned up the scraped on his knees and covered them with bandaids. They didn’t talk as she worked; she didn’t ask any more questions, and he didn’t offer any answers. The only noise was Bev’s soft humming and the occasional sniff from Eddie. 

When Bev held out her hands expectantly, Eddie mimicked her motion, letting her blot off the specks of blood that had bloomed on his palms. Before she could pull her hands away, Eddie found himself closing his fingers around them; not tight, the way his mother had held onto his own wrist, but just enough to let her know the he was grateful she was there. 

Bev looked up at him, blinked once, and then pulled him into a hug. Eddie let himself fall into her, his head resting awkwardly on her shoulder. He’d had no idea how much he’d needed this; as usual, Bev knew what the best thing to do was. Bev always knew, Eddie mused. 

“Thank you,” Eddie said after a moment. Bev just smiled at him, and Eddie was overwhelmed by how grateful he was for her being there, by just how much he loved her. 

“Guess you should be the doctor of the group now,” he added, giving a weak smile. He felt better, much better than he had minutes before she’d gotten there. The bandaids helped, as did having his scrapes cleaned out - even if he hadn’t been present enough to hear it, a part of his brain had been panicking about the germs of leaving the wounds open and uncleaned from his messy meeting with the forest floor. More than that, though, was just having Bev there to ground him; she helped bring him back to earth, the way Eddie knew all of his friends did. He loved them for that.

“Well, without your first aid kit, I wouldn’t have been able to do anything,” Bev said, grinning. She zipped up the bag and turned around to put it back where she’d found it. “So I think your title is safe. I won’t tell if you won’t,” she added over her shoulder, and although he could hear the joking note in her tone, Eddie knew she meant more than just about her taking care of a few scrapes for him.

It was almost comical - after his mother insisting that his friends would hurt him, would leave him, wouldn’t take care of him, here was Bev: sweet, beautiful Bev, all kind eyes and gentle hands as she patched him up and brought him back to reality and away from whatever black ooze he’d been stuck in. He almost wished his mother could see it, how he’d been right all along as he’d known he was. In his mind, he flipped off the image of her sneering face while she talked about how his friends didn’t care for him.

The mental image made Eddie laugh. Or at least, it started out as a laugh, morphing into a sort of gasping sob halfway through. It wasn’t entirely a sob, not yet, but it still made his shoulders shake in a way that was unpleasantly reminiscent of his earlier tears.

“Eddie?” 

Bev had turned around just in time to see his face morph from a grin to a grimace, to watch the half-sob ripple through his body. 

“Hey,” she said softly, sitting down on the dirt floor across from him. She sat criss crossed facing him, her brows drawn together. “Eddie, what happened?”

It was the second time she’d asked. Eddie took a moment to blow his nose before he replied, stalling for time. He didn’t know why he was so worried to tell Bev - she would never laugh at him. He knew that. She never did, not even when he really got going about some disease or bacteria or another and even he knew he was being ridiculous. 

He wasn’t even sure exactly what he _should_ tell her - “Hey, I’ve been stuck in my house for a week and it’s felt like a prison sentence, also my mom and I have had three huge fights in that week and I literally fled out the door to come here because she started yelling and crying and insulting you guys again because oh right, she hates you for some reason” didn’t exactly roll off the tongue. Eddie crumpled up the tissue not looking at Bev.

“It’s just - my mom,” was what came out his mouth a moment later. He could feel Bev tense a bit, and when he flicked his eyes back up to hers, she looked almost angry.

“What did she do?” Bev asked quietly, gaze roaming from Eddie’s blotchy, tear stained face to the tissues crumpled up next to him down to his knees, still hugged to his chest, and then back to his face. 

“We had a fight,” Eddie said unsurely. “It was - pretty bad,” he added lamely, not exactly sure where to begin. He felt stupid to say it, that he’d been crying on the ground and in a blind panic to get away from house just because of a stupid fight, but something about it just hadn’t been right. 

_“I always knew you’d leave me, Eddie!”_

Eddie shuddered, gripping the tissue in his hand tighter until his knuckles were white. Bev observed this, then reached out a gentle hand for his clenched fist. Her touch was soft; she ran her thumb gently over his fingers, coaxing them open. Eddie couldn't help but compare that to how his mother had gripped his wrist and slowly, painfully uncurled his fingers from a fist earlier that week. Reality ran parallel to memory as Bev plucked the tissue from his now open palm, just as in Eddie’s mind his mother snatched the crumpled note from his hand. The present diverged from the past then as, instead of dropping his hand, Bev dropped the tissue instead, letting it fall onto the small pile that had accrued next to him. Her hand stayed in his, wrapping loosely around it in a way that was comforting, not constraining. Eddie took a breath, sensing that Bev was letting him lead the conversation. 

“I don’t know how to deal with her sometimes. It’s just - it’s too much sometimes, and she gets really worked up about taking care of me, yknow? Like I’m a lab rat or a science experiment or a glass boy that will break if she’s not hovering around and watching and controlling everything all the time.” It came out all in one breath, faster than Eddie intended, as his speech so often was when he started going. It was almost relieving to say, finally, out loud and to someone real, the way he’d been feeling about being stuck at home with his mother for a week. About all of her frantic diagnoses and insistence on keeping track of him, on taking care of him, her possessive sort of care that sometimes made Eddie feel like he was being drowned in it. 

“She loves me,” he rushed to add, feeling compelled to clarify. He didn’t want to sound ungrateful for her care, or like he was unaware that his complaints were probably unfair - after all, her actions all came from love. That was what he always had to remind himself, reminded himself just then by saying out loud to Bev, who merely blinked. 

“She loves me,” he repeated, as if saying it twice made it more of a valid explanation that just once. “I know that. It’s just...” he trailed off, pursing his lips. He wasn’t even sure what he was trying to say, but Bev didn’t seem to mind. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze as if to indicate that she was there, that she was listening, that he could take his time and that was okay. 

Eddie took a sniffling breath and said, “Sometimes she just seems so - so unpredictable. Like, she’ll be okay, or she’ll seem like she’s okay, and then she’ll start crying, or yelling, or—“ Eddie looked down at his wrist, wrapping that hand more securely around his knees. There were no bruises left, but Eddie could feel Bev’s gaze on him as he paused. Before she could speak, he continued. 

“I just feel like I don’t - like I never - like, like—“

“Like you don’t ever know what she’s gonna do next?” Bev offered, eyes meeting Eddie’s.

“Yeah,” Eddie breathed, and he watched Bev’s shoulders fall slightly. 

“Yeah,” she echoed. “I know what you mean.” She closed her eyes and exhaled heavily, a sigh that tickled Eddie’s bare legs where he sat across from her. “Are you...safe? At home?” 

It seemed like it took something out of her to ask. Her eyes were still closed, but Eddie could see that her brows were drawn and heavy. Her grip on his hand had tightened slightly, and he squeezed her hand back, trying to give back some of the same comfort that she was providing him.

“I...think so,” Eddie said. “She’s doesn’t - she wouldn’t,” he said firmly, more firmly than he felt. He thought of her hand around his wrist and suppressed a shudder; horrible as that had been, that was a far cry from what Bev meant and Eddie knew it. 

He didn’t know everything - she didn’t like to talk about it - but the Losers all knew that Bev’s dad was a real piece of work. She always said it was running into a door, or falling down the stairs, but she was bruised far too often for any of them to believe it. 

In a way, Eddie guessed, she knew that they knew, and that was enough for her. It wasn’t exactly like they could do anything besides be there for her anyways; they were too young, the police force of Derry too notoriously incompetent. It wasn’t like they could do anything to him, or say something that would matter. It would only make worse whatever was already happening, Eddie was somehow sure of that. And besides, Bev was a capable girl, and Eddie knew that she was strong and brave and had been living with whatever went on behind closed doors for far longer than any of them had even begun to suspect there _was_anything happening. She knew best how to deal with whatever exactly was going on, even if Eddie wished there was some way they could help. Even if knowing that her dad was treating her badly and they weren’t doing anything about it made Eddie’s blood boil. 

He wasn’t alone in that, either - far from it. It wasn’t as though the other Losers made a habit of talking about it, but once, after Bev had shown up with a busted lip and bruises blooming across her cheek, Bill had said quietly that he thought he maybe hated Mr. Marsh. They had all agreed, and there had been a sense of understanding among them that none of them would shed a tear if something terrible happened to him. 

“That’s - that’s good, Eddie,” Bev said quietly, opening her eyes again. They were bright, a luminescent blue green that somehow brought out the red of her hair by contrast. Eddie was close enough that he could see they were just a bit too shiny, a slight sheen of tears swimming in them. It was clearly not easy for her to ask, and Eddie appreciated even more that she was willing to sit and support him anyways. He hoped she knew that he was willing to do the same, always; that he loved her and was there for her and would do whatever he could for her. 

Instead of saying any of that, Eddie offered her a tissue, which she took with a watery smile. He got the feeling she knew all the words behind the gesture that he hadn’t spoken as she dabbed at her eyes. She spoke again after a moment, voice steady despite the moment it took for her to compose herself.

“Anyways, I know what you mean about the mood stuff,” she said crumpling up her own tissue in her fist. “It’s so - so exhausting, not knowing what to expect. It’s like you’re walking on eggshells all the time.”

Eddie was struck by a feeling of deja vu; he’d had the same exact thought earlier that day, laying on his bed. It was a miserable way to feel, and he was struck with a sudden pang of sadness that Bev could relate. Of course, that wasn’t the only thing she had to deal with, Eddie knew that. He was hit with a stronger pang then, thinking again about the way she too often showed up to the Losers Club hangouts bruised or bleeding or limping, about the look of panic on her face when she realized that the time was later than she expected and she left in a hurry to get home, the way she joked about how “my dad will kill me if the chores aren’t done”, but no one really laughed, because how much of a joke was it? 

He looked at Bev sadly, brows heavy, heart heavier. She was so kind, so good, to be sitting there with him - it made him so upset to think of her hurting. And to think he was sitting there burdening her because of what, a dumb fight? Because his mom was a little extra careful with him? Stupid, he berated himself, that isn’t the same, that doesn’t compare to—

“Stop that,” Bev said, interrupting his thoughts. She looked stern, brows furrowed, mouth a tight line. Before Eddie could ask what she meant, she beat him to it. 

“Stop looking at me like that.” 

Eddie realized his features must have been betraying his sadness for her. He then realized that it must have looked like pity, at least from her perspective, which wasn’t what she wanted at all. He knew that, and it _hadn’t_ been pity, really, but that didn’t change the fact that empathy and pity often read the same way on one’s face. 

Before he could say anything - maybe to apologize, or explain, or just say okay, he wasn’t sure - sure spoke again.

“And don’t compare this stuff, okay?” she said as though she’d heard his thoughts moments prior. “It’s not - it’s not like that. Just because my dad sucks doesn’t mean your mom doesn’t, or that she’s better or anything like that. She can suck too,” Bev said, looking at him sincerely. “I don’t have a monopoly on shitty parents,” she added, smiling despite the heavy mood.

“Yeah, but she’s just, y’know, she’s just whatever, and your _dad—“ _Eddie cut off with a frustrated sigh, still feeling like an idiot for making such a big deal out of nothing.

“Eddie, seriously,” Bev said, reaching out for his other hand. She held them both tightly, a comforting pressure between them. “I’ve never seen you like that before,” she said, flicking her gaze down to the pile of tissues next to them. “So it wasn’t nothing, whatever exactly happened. You don’t deserve to feel like you’re living on eggshells, or to be afraid of whether your mom is going to yell or cry or do nothing at all. It’s not right,” she finished, squeezing his hands. 

“My mom loves me,” Eddie said. His voice was quiet, almost childlike. He knew Bev was right - he felt like he’d known for a while that there was something wrong, just something off about the way he felt suffocated at home, trapped by his mother literally and figuratively. It had only really become impossible to ignore the week prior, when the marks on his wrist were something he couldn’t just make disappear by shoving them out of his mind. 

“I know,” Bev said simply. “She does. But that doesn’t mean she can’t do shitty things, too. Even if the shitty things come from love, that doesn’t make them less shitty. People that love us can still hurt us.” She shrugged lightly, her eyes sad, her mouth curved into the hint of a rueful smile. Eddie knew that she wasn’t just talking about him and his mother anymore. 

This time it was Eddie that moved towards her, leaning forward between his knees as he peeled their hands apart and wrapped her into a hug. Her arms came up around his back, comfortable even as their knees bumped together between them. 

“Thank you,” Eddie said quietly, speaking to the empty space behind Bev from where his head rested on her shoulder. He hoped it was enough for her to realize that he was thanking her for all of it - for being there, for patching him up, for listening, for caring, for being his friend. 

“‘Course,” she replied, voice thick, and he knew that it was enough. 

They stayed that way, leaning towards each other to meet in a awkward hug, for several minutes. 

When they pulled apart, Eddie felt lifetimes away from the memory of his mother yelling after him, years away from the version of himself who’d cried in the same place he was sitting. Bev smiled at him and Eddie grinned back, immensely grateful for her in that moment. 

“Let’s clean up this mess,” she said, jutting out her chin at the mess of tissues and bandaid wrappers on the ground next to them. Eddie nodded, and together they gathered up the garbage and put it in the trash can, which was still sitting nearby. Just as Eddie was putting the garbage can back in the corner where it belonged, the two of them heard voices float down from the open hatch. Bev and Eddie both snapped their gaze to the opening, waiting.

“—would t-totally win in a fight, c-come on!”

“They _did_ fight, remember? And Superman totally lost!”

“It wasn’t a fair fuh-fuh-fight, Stan!” 

One sneaker clad foot appeared, then another, and soon Stan was climbing down the ladder. He was quickly followed by Bill, who cut off mid-rebuttal when he saw Beverly.

“Oh! Huh-hey, Bev,” he said, a faint pink spreading across his cheeks. He noticed Eddie a moment later, his small smile growing into a bright grin. 

“Eddie! You made it!” he exclaimed happily. For a moment, Eddie thought Bill too was going to hug him, but he just strode over and high fived Eddie excitedly. The intent was the same, Eddie knew, and his enthusiasm was infectious. 

“Hiya, Bill,” Eddie grinned. “And Stan!” Eddie added, flicking his hand in a half wave by way of greeting. Stan was grinning too, also glad to see Eddie. He returned Eddie’s wave with a bright smile and a nodded “Hello”.

“Whuh-what were you guys doing down here?” Bill asked, settling onto the swing that hung from the ceiling of the clubhouse. 

Eddie looked at Bev nervously, locking eyes with her for a brief moment before she looked back at Bill with an easy smile. “Nothing much. What were _you_ guys talking about? Sounded pretty heated,” she commented, and Eddie was extremely grateful for the redirection of the conversation. If Bill or Stan had noticed that she’d deflected Bill’s question, they didn’t let on, jumping back into their own discussion instead. 

“Stan thinks that Buh-Batman is a stronger superh-huh-hu—ugh—superhero than Superman,” Bill said, tone implying he clearly felt otherwise. 

Stan, who had sat down on one of the stools around the clubhouse, rolled his eyes exasperatedly. “I know Superman has super strength,” he said to Bev and Eddie, “but they literally fought each other and Batman won, it was literally in the comics!” 

“That’s true,” Eddie weighed in, looking over to Bill. He looked betrayed, as though he couldn’t believe Eddie had the gall to point to the comics as a reputable source. 

“But he’s literally Superman! Thuh-thuh-that’s like - like - that’s stupid!” 

The four of them dissolved into a theatrically heated discussion of the two superheroes and their respective powers. Beverly agreed with Bill, but Eddie secretly thought this was perhaps just because she wanted to keep the debate even. As they were bickering, Ben appeared in the hatch and made his way into the clubhouse. 

Eddie filled him in on the debate, and he too immediately cited their comic book fight (“That fight wasn’t _fair_!” Bill insisted, and Stan rolled his eyes).

It wasn’t too much later that Mike arrived, and he too was filled in on the topic of discussion. 

They went back and forth, for a while, all six of them laughing and arguing with each other with an ease that Eddie had missed even more than he’d realized. He wished Richie were there, especially for this - Richie always had strong comic book opinions, and Eddie couldn’t help but wish he was there to get in on their friendly debate. He was missing Richie’s jokes too, several prime comedic opportunities in their superhero debate going unutilized as he wasn’t there to make use of them. Eddie wondered if the others were missing him too, amidst their dramatic accusations and peals of laughter over comic book battles. 

After a while of boisterous discussion with no consensus (Bill and Mike maintained that it hadn’t been a fair fight; Ben, Stan, and Eddie argued that it was _only_ fair of Batman to make use of Superman’s weakness for kryptonite; Bev played a bit of devil’s advocate, switching between the two points of view), the six teens eventually veered off the topic of the two heroes and instead began to talk about what they should do for the rest of they day. It was around 12:30 by that point, so they were burning daylight. 

“I don’t mind if we just stay here and hang out,” Mike said, genially, to which Bill and Ben nodded in agreement.

Eddie let out a little groan from where he was laying in the hammock. As much as he was extremely grateful to be seeing his friends, he’d had enough “just hanging out” to last a lifetime. He didn’t feel like sitting around and reading more comic books, even if the change of scenery and company was already a vast improvement from the week prior. 

Stan glanced over at Eddie, ever perceptive. “What about going to the Aladdin?” he suggested thoughtfully, and Eddie grinned gratefully at him over the edge of the hammock. 

“Yeah! There’s gotta be something good up,” Bev said, nodding. 

Bill and Ben perked up almost in unison, their voices mingling as they spoke at the same time. 

“The new Tuh-Tuh-Terminator—!“

“Isn’t the second Terminator—?”

“Yes!”

“Yeah!”

Mike’s eyebrows shot up at their synchronicity as Eddie sat up in the hammock, clinging to the sides to keep his balance. 

“I totally forgot!” Eddie exclaimed, smacking one palm to his head. “Let’s go see it!” 

Bill was grinning excitedly, practically vibrating in the swing. “Mike? Bev?” Mike gave a thumbs up, and Bev said, “Sure, why not?” 

“Huh-hell yeah!” Bill whooped, and Eddie swung his legs over the side of the hammock excitedly. A thought struck him as he was about to stand up, and he sunk back into the fabric. 

“Ah shit,” he said, tipping his head back. “I didn’t bring any money. I could go grab some, but...” he trailed off, a pit forming in his gut at the idea of going back to his house. 

Before the pit could grow any larger, Bev pulled him back out. 

“No biggie,” she said with a grin. “I’ve got you, Eddie.” She patted her pocket to indicate that she could pay, which Eddie was very grateful for, but there was something else in her tone that reminded Eddie of the conversation they’d had earlier. There was a sort of double meaning in her tone, a depth greater than just paying for a ticket in her assertion that she “got” him. Eddie could tell by the look in her eyes that it was intentional, and the pit disappeared. Of course Bev had him, she always did. They all did. 

Eddie smiled gratefully at her, hoping she picked up that he understood what she was really saying.

“Thanks, Bev.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so.....12K words later, you made it! thanks so much for reading, i hope you're liking it! i promise richie won't be gone for TOO much longer - i miss him as much as you guys do. also, eddie/bev is an underrated friendship because like, they would get each other, yknow?
> 
> anyways, comments make my day so leave one if you've got a sec!! 
> 
> thanks for reading, see you guys again soon!
> 
> EDIT FROM THE FUTURE: i wrote some of this chapter from bev's pov for a tumblr challenge, you can read that [here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21995260)


	6. go directly to jail (not this time)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait, if you're reading this: thanks! enjoy the chapter :D

”Do you guys wuh-wuh-wanna play a guh-game or something?” Bill asked, forcing the words out as he pushed the door to his house open. The three boys followed him in, each holding the door open for the one behind them: Stan, then Eddie, then Ben, who carefully shut the door behind them once they were all inside. 

“What about Monopoly?” Stan suggested, bending down to untie his sneakers. Eddie did the same; Bill and Ben opted to force off their shoes without untying them, leaving them in the entryway. 

“You always wanna puh-play Monopoly,” Bill groaned, rolling his eyes. He was notoriously bad at the game, always managing to have the worst luck and the least success. 

Stan scoffed, setting his shoes neatly against the wall. “Because it’s fun, Bill! Don’t be mad just ‘cause you always lose.” He gave Bill a sweet smile. Bill stuck out his tongue in response. 

Eddie was reminded, suddenly, of being much younger. When it was he and Bill and Stan, trekking through the Barrens or wandering around town. He and Bill had been friends since they were really young - something about Bill’s stutter had meshed perfectly with Eddie’s fanny pack of mom-mandated medicine, and they’d hit it off. The two of them had become friends with Stan not too long after, and that was, Eddie supposed, the real start of the Losers Club. It had gone from just the two of them, the leftover pair who had found each other, to a trio; a group in their own right, all of them outcasts on their own but never when they were together. It felt less like they were on the outside because no one would let them in and more like, finally, they were on the inside of something else. Something special, just the three of them. 

And of course, then there was Richie. He had become a part of their little club around second grade, expanding their trio to a quartet of losers. He’d made everything better - balanced then out, somehow. He brought a sort of volume to the group, a loud and loving heart that fit perfectly into the dynamic they’d had previously. It had been both a big change and an extremely natural one, at least to Eddie. Richie had changed everything, and yet it felt like he’d always been a part of their group. As though it had always been them, the four of them, playing guns and getting ice cream and make believing they were superheroes or pirates or whatever else it was. 

It somehow felt like it would always be that way. Eddie felt, just for a moment, like it still was.

And then Ben said, “I mean, I like Monopoly,” and just like that, the spell was broken. He wasn’t in elementary school anymore, and it wasn’t just the four of them. Well - Eddie supposed it was technically just the four of them there, standing in Bill’s entryway, but it wasn’t just them, and it wasn’t the same four. There was Mike and Bev, too, each at home somewhere else in Derry, and Ben, standing mere feet away and glancing with sweet, easygoing eyes between Bill and Stan. 

There was, of course, no Richie in this particular quartet. 

Eddie felt a familiar pang at the thought; he missed Richie being there. He’d found himself missing Richie all day as he and the Losers had hung out. He’d missed Richie’s stupid commentary during the movie, the horrible voices, the jokes that Eddie would find so funny he could cry but that he would only ever say were stupid. Eddie hadn’t realized just how much of the quiet in their group was filled by Richie - how much of their laughter came from him - until he wasn’t there. 

That wasn’t to say there wasn’t laughter, or that they just moved through the day in silence. Of course they hadn’t. Stan was funnier than he ever gave himself credit for, and Bev was as clever as she was kind. They all “got off good ones”, as Richie would say; it was just that the quiet spaces in between, comfortable as they were, were more common without Richie there. It hadn’t made the day unenjoyable for Eddie by any stretch of the imagination, but he wouldn’t be willing to admit even to himself how many times he’d caught himself waiting for an impression or a voice that wouldn’t come. 

Regardless of all that, it had been a great day. The movie had been good, and they’d ambled around town for a bit before going back to the clubhouse. They’d sat around, as usual, just talking and laughing and reading comic books and doing any other myriad of things on their own or in pairs. It didn’t matter so much what they did, just that they were together. There was just something nice about all of them doing their own thing at the same time, a sort of group harmony that was both comfortable and safe. 

Every so often, Eddie had felt someone looking at him and had looked up to see Bev’s eye’s on him. Her gaze had held a silent question: are you okay? It wasn’t condescending or possessive; it was just caring. Eddie had just responded with a smile or a minute nod each time, the crushing mood of earlier that day miles away. Still, he was warmly grateful that she cared enough to ask, and he felt a surge of affection each time she grinned back at him before going back to whatever she’d been doing or saying before. 

After a few hours in the clubhouse, Bill had suggested they move to his house. His parents had said on more than one occasion that the Losers were always welcome to come over; the Denbrough house was by far the preferred hangout location, although the Hanlon farm also had its appeal. Bill had suggested they could come over and eat dinner, since it was nearly six o’clock - maybe even stay overnight, if they wanted to.

Both Bev and Mike had declined. Bev had to get home and do chores, and it was understood that she wasn’t able to partake in Losers Club sleepovers, unless she had ample time to set up an alibi. Her father would never let her; he didn’t even like that she hung out with the six boys at all during the day, let alone at night. Mike had to get home to take care of a few chores as well, although his tasks were more focused on the plots of land outside the house rather than the home itself. It was that time of year, after all.

So, all of them had climbed the ladder out of the clubhouse and shut the door behind them, making the entrance disappear right into the ground underneath the camouflage they had so carefully constructed. It had just been the short walk through the woods then, and before Eddie had known it they were on their bikes - Mike going one way, the rest going the other. Bev peeled off too not long after, leaving the four boys to race their way to Bill’s house. It was a path as familiar as going home, so there was no need for Bill to give directions. Instead, they’d talked about all kinds of nothing on the way there; the movie, the comics they’d read, what teachers they were happy never to see again, what they wanted to do before school started again. 

It had, really, been a great day.

Eddie could suddenly feel all of that melting away, his feet stuck in place as Bill, Stan, and Ben continued towards the living room. He was no longer tuned in to whatever they were laughing about - Bill was probably complaining about Monopoly still, if Eddie had to guess, even as he went to get out the game. Eddie’s mind was miles from Park Place, though, as he stood transfixed in the doorway and stared into the Denbrough’s kitchen. 

His eyes were locked on the phone - he was remembering what felt like a million years ago, when he’d promised his mother he would call. That he would tell her where he was, where he was going, what he was doing. But that promise had been made by an Eddie who had genuinely thought - or hoped - that his mother would actually let him go hang out with his friends. An Eddie who hadn’t fled down the street on his bike, hadn’t cried on the grimy floor of the clubhouse. It didn’t feel fair that he should keep his promise when she had hardly kept hers to let him go, not without that horrible scene. 

And yet, Eddie knew he had to. He labored under no hopeful delusion that calling the police to report him missing after only a few hours was below her. She would do it, had done it, and had probably been itching to do it again since Eddie had ran from the house. She would tell them something about him being unstable, maybe, that he wasn’t in his right state of mind. Eddie could almost hear her wheedling tone, could almost see the cops struggling not to roll their eyes. They would be just as fed up as he was, but they would find him anyways, to placate her. They’d say they were sorry as they drove him home, and maybe they were. Eddie wouldn’t be cuffed as he sat in the cop car, but he might as well be. Home was, after all, the place where they had to drag you there and hold you down until you stayed put. Eddie knew that. 

So with that in mind, Eddie was staring at the phone, knowing he had to call. Knowing he desperately didn’t want to.

“Eddie?” 

Eddie almost jumped at the soft voice, yanking his focus away from the telephone. It was as though the rest of the house had suddenly rematerialized around him, much as Bill himself had suddenly appeared next to Eddie. 

“Yuh-yuh-you okay?” 

Eddie blinked once, stupidly. There was clear concern written on Bill’s face, and Eddie knew he should find a way to make the concern disappear, but all he could manage was “Uh, I’m,” before he stopped. He glanced at the phone again and swallowed thickly.

Bill followed his gaze, brows drawn. There was another moment of confusion as he searched Eddie’s face, then looked back at the phone. When his eyes settled on Eddie again, Eddie watched realization wash over them. 

“Oh. You gotta cah-call your mom? You know you can j-juh-juh-juh – shit!” He stopped, pursing his lips. Eddie watched the muscles in his jaw flex as he tried to get his mouth back on track with his brain. “You can use it,” Bill forced out after a moment, having given up on anything more complicated than that.

“Thanks, Big Bill,” Eddie said, and he knew he sounded nervous. Bill picked up on it too, of course.

“If you gotta go home—“ 

“No! I don’t want to,” Eddie cut in quickly.

Bill seemed momentarily taken aback at Eddie’s outburst, but quickly seemed to catch on. 

“You guys fight again?”

When Eddie didn’t reply, just giving a noncommital shrug, Bill sighed. He didn’t know the half of it, but Eddie still felt like Bill understood. 

“I can tuh-talk to her, if you want. Make up some bullshit about what we’re gonna do or how ruh-really, my parents don’t mind at all, they insist,” Bill offered. He had slipped into what Eddie mentally referred to as his parent voice halfway through, his tone just a bit cleaner, voice a bit higher pitched. Eddie almost laughed, and Bill grinned at him. They just stood there, smiling at each other for a second, before Bill broke the spell. 

“Do you wuh-want me to stay here while you call?”

Eddie felt a rush of embarrassment. As kind as it was of Bill to offer, Eddie felt suddenly ridiculous for being so worked up over a phone call.

“No, that’s - I got this,” Eddie said clumsily, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt.

Bill seemed to understand, nodding. “Hell yeah you do,” he said. “We’ll be in the other ruh-room.” He gave Eddie another smile and a thumbs up, and then he was turning back down the hall towards the muffled voices of Ben and Stan. 

Eddie watched him go for a moment. He felt better after having talked to Bill, his brief encouragement having soothed some of Eddie’s nerves. He knew he should call while he could ride this brief wave of confidence; it wouldn’t get any easier the longer he waited. He just had to go and get it done. 

Quick like a Band-Aid, Eddie thought, shifting his weight so his left leg was bent and he could feel the bandage stuck across his knee pulling against his skin. 

He squared his shoulders, let out a deep breath, and marched over to the phone. He punched in his home phone number without stopping to think about it.

He’d scarcely heard the dial tone for even a sliver of a moment before his mother picked up. 

“Eddie?”

Eddie wanted to hang up - hearing her voice had sent a chill through him, his hair standing on end against his will. Instead, he gritted his teeth and said “Hi, mommy.”

“Oh, Eddiebear, it’s you! I’ve been so worried,” she said, and Eddie could almost picture her, clasping the phone as if he had been kidnapped and this was a ransom call and not just her son checking in from a friend’s house. “Why didn’t you call sooner?” she demanded. Her voice had done what it so often did; she’d switched from a wheedling hurt tone to one that was almost angry in a matter of moments. Eddie thought of his conversation with Bev earlier, his hand tightening on the phone.

“I was out,” he managed, the hand not holding the phone finding its way to the hem of his shorts. 

“Well, when are you coming home? Where are you? Where have you been all day?” 

Eddie closed his eyes, taking a singular deep breath. He didn’t want to deal with this - not with her questions, or her rapid shifts in tone, or anything else. So, instead of answering, he simply blurted out, “I’m staying here tonight.”

There was a beat of silence, and then a sharp intake of breath. 

“Staying where? I don’t think so, Eddie, you know—“

“Mom, I’m staying over here. I’m just having a sleepover with my friends,” Eddie said, as though that would matter or would fix anything in her mind. 

“Eddie.” Her tone was heavy, voice low. “Where are you? I’m coming to pick you up, you know—“

But Eddie had heard enough.

“I’ll be back tomorrow, I’ll see you then,” he said quickly. He could hear her rambling still, loud and angry and demanding he tell her where he was right away. She was in the middle of asking again when he slammed the phone down on the receiver. 

He sighed again, heart beating just a bit too fast to be comfortable. At least now it was done - and he hadn’t even slipped up and mentioned that he was at Bill’s, though he was sure she could guess. He just had to hope that she wouldn’t show up and drag him back home. 

“Oh, Eddie! I didn’t realize you were here too.”

Eddie jumped, sucking in a quick breath. Bill’s mom had walked into the kitchen as he’d been coming down from the stress of the phonecall, catching him off guard. 

“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to scare you!” She added kindly, observing Eddie’s shock. “How have you been?” She began to sort through a cabinet, looking for something. 

“Pretty good, thank you,” Eddie said, glad to find his voice was cooperative. 

“Are you staying over tonight?” She was still rifling through the cabinet. Eddie glanced down at the phone.

“Yes, if that’s alright.”

“Of course!” She turned away from the cabinet then, smiling. “It’s always nice to have you boys over.”

Eddie didn’t really know what to say to that, so he just gave an awkward smile. Mrs. Denbrough was always nice to them when they were over, and Eddie wondered for a brief moment what it would be like if she were his mother instead.

“I’m gonna go, uh, to the living room,” was all that he said. She nodded at him, turning back to the cabinet. 

Eddie walked down the hall, the voices of the other three boys growing louder as he approached. He tried to shove the phone call - and all thoughts of his mother - away as he stepped into the living room. 

They were in fact setting up the Monopoly board, the three of them sitting on the floor on the floor. Stan was prying the box open as Ben and Bill sat nearby. Bill noticed Eddie first, locking eyes with him when he glanced up. He gave a tentative smile, silently asking Eddie if the phone call had gone alright. Eddie shrugged, but he was grinning back, and that was good enough. 

“Cannon is mine,” Stan said, setting the lid of the box off to the side. 

Bill shifted over to allow Eddie into their circle on the floor, between he and Ben. Eddie plopped down gratefully, and Ben blinked at him for a moment. 

“I’ll be the buh-battleship,” Bill announced, reaching into the little plastic section where the metal tokens sat. Eddie was almost surprised - Bill usually liked the racecar, although who didn’t? That one usually went to whoever claimed it first, when they played. 

Eddie was mid thought when he felt Bill knock on his knee lightly. Bill shook his closed hand slightly, indicating for Eddie to hold his own hand out. Eddie did, and into his palm dropped the tiny metal racecar. Eddie looked up at Bill, brows drawn, but Bill just gave a kind smile and showed the tiny ship in his own hand. Eddie understood that Bill had given him the car as a sort of gift, and he was flooded with a sudden heat of gratitude for him. He didn’t wanna make it a big deal, so he just smiled back and held up the car in response.

Ben was poking through the tokens still left, pulling out the dog after a few moments. 

The three boys turned towards Stan, then, who was counting colorful pieces of paper into four stacks. He treated them with care, like they had a real value as opposed to simply being cheap pieces of mass produced paper. Eddie traced the concentration in his face as he separated them into the four piles, one for each of them. Stan looked as though he were counting out money for a ransom, perhaps, or an important art deal. 

In a way, Eddie supposed as he watched, it almost didn’t matter that they were just flimsy papers, printed in some toy factory somewhere. Once they started the game, they would have value. They might as well be real dollars, or maybe they were, in that moment. After all, they would act like they were real dollars, Eddie mused, glancing at Bill. Maybe believing that something was real made it so, or gave it some sort of power as long as you acted like it was what you were pretending it was. Eddie didn’t know, but he felt like maybe there was some bigger truth to that that went far beyond their little game. 

“Alright, there you go,” Stan said, startling Eddie out of his thoughts. “Ben, Bill, Eddie, and me.” He placed a stack of money in front of each boy as he said their name, each one carefully lined up into a perfect little rectangle. He moved the box of money off behind him, so he could easily reach it by twisting around. 

He was always the banker when they played Monopoly. Stan just had a way with numbers, and he was more organized than the rest of them. Richie had demanded to be banker once, but he’d started using other things as money (“The gum wrapper you just dug out of your pocket is not worth ten thousand dollars, Richie!”) and trying to give loans and charge interest on them, which had been a disaster. After that, they decided - although unspoken - that Stan should just stay the banker. 

Stan handed the dice Bill first, another unspoken rule of Losers Monopoly. He rolled the two die - an eight. The dice went to Stan next, who rolled a ten. He gave Bill, who was already scowling, a cheeky grin as he dropped the dice into Ben’s hands. Ben rolled a four, and then handed them over to Eddie. 

Eddie thought briefly of how Richie would often plead for Eddie to blow on the dice before he rolled, as though it mattered. (“Eddie, Eds, please! Just a lil sugar, c’mon, you know you’re my lucky charm! Well, I mean, since your mom isn’t here—“ “Shut up, Richie!”) Sometimes Eddie did though, blowing gently onto Richie’s outstretched hand, just to get him to shut up. It always left his face feeling warm, but he knew it was because it was embarrassing, especially when Richie would roll well and would then rave about how it was Eddie that did it. 

“C’mon, Eddie, it’s not hard,” Stan said drily, snapping Eddie back to reality. 

“Right,” he mumbled, throwing the dice down. It was a seven. Stan grinned again and snatched the dice from where they had landed after Eddie’s toss. 

His grin dropped for a moment, and he looked at them all solemnly. Eddie was struck again by the seriousness he could find in Stan’s feautures, as if this was an important business meeting and not a couple teenagers playing a board game on a summer night. It made him look like a grown up, Eddie realized. 

“Let’s get started,” he said in a somber tone, locking eyes with each of them. And then he grinned, and Stan the adult was once again Stan the teenager, giddy and silly and having fun with his friends. He threw the dice, and the game was off.

It was a standard game of Monopoly, as far as Losers games went. Ben and Eddie were less cutthroat than Stan and Bill. Eddie tried his best, but he didn’t really sweat having to pay a tax or getting sent to jail, and he had no real strategy for when or where to add buildings. Without Richie there to goad him, Eddie was even less dedicated to the game. Ben was much of the same, lacking a strategy and rolling with whatever happened without much fuss.

Each of them did occasionally have a stroke of luck, and it wasn’t unheard of for them to win. It was nice when they fid, or when things were going well - when things weren’t going well, neither of them cared all that much. The longer the game went, the less they cared. 

On the other hand, the longer the game went on, the more intense Stan and Bill got. Stan always had some sort of strategy or plan for the game; sometimes they didn’t work, or his luck wasn’t good enough to pull it off that time. When his plans did work, though, they worked. Stan loved to play the long game, and loved even more when it began to work out. This irritated Bill to no end, who would often go into the game with grand plans or a sense of certainty that he finally had the perfect pathway to success and would very quickly fail. He won very rarely, halfway succeeded more frequently. 

When his own plans went badly just as Stan’s were coming to fruition, which happened often, Bill became impatient with the game. He wasn’t exactly a bad sport, and he didn’t get angry, but Stan did know how to push his buttons (“Aw, Bill, you landed on Park Place? That’s too bad. I really hate to take that rent from you, but you know how the game goes,” Stan said, smiling sweetly and holding out a hand to collect Bill’s money. “Fuck off, Stan.”).

That was pretty much how today’s game had been going. Eddie had found himself zoning out during much of their game, as much as he was glad to be there with his friends. He couldn’t stop thinking about his mom. It was like he could hear her still, as though slamming the phone back down hadn’t been enough to dispel her ghost from his mind. He glanced down at his wrist, absentmindedly fiddling with the hem of his shorts. 

He would have to deal with it at some point, Eddie knew that. His mom was certainly angry with him for running out and then calling only to say he wasn’t coming home for the night before hanging up. For all he knew, she’d already called the cops to drag him back home. He glanced out the window, barely hearing the game going on in front of him. No sirens, which was a good sign, he guessed.

“Your turn.”

Eddie blinked back to reality. Ben was holding the dice out to him - he’d missed the other boys’ turns while he was thinking, and it was back around to him. 

“Right. Thanks,” Eddie said absently, grabbing the dice from Ben’s open palm. 

He looked at them in his own palm for a moment, then glanced up at his friends, because that’s where he was: with his friends. Not with his mother, not at home - he was there, sitting with three of his best friends in the world. 

He could deal with everything else later, he decided as he cupped his hands and shook the dice. For now, he would forget about his mother and just play the game and enjoy the night of freedom he’d stolen.

He let the dice go - a seven. What a coincidence, Eddie thought, thinking of the friends he was so lucky to have as he moved his tiny race car around the board.

—-

“I still can’t believe you wuh-won again,” Bill grumbled.

The four boys were laying around in Bill’s room in the dark. Bill was in his bed, sitting up against the headboard. Stan was perched on the edge of the bed, while Ben and Eddie were on the floor. There were three sleeping bags around the room for later, when they would eventually tire themselves out with talking and decide to go to sleep - much later than any of them would stay up on their own. 

They’d finished their game about an hour prior. Stan had won the game, with Bill coming in second. Eddie and Ben had gone bankrupt way before Bill did, and had become so bored with watching the other two play that they’d turned on the TV and spent nearly an hour flicking through channels before the game finally ended.

“It’s all about the strategy, Bill,” Stan said, and even though it was dark, Eddie thought he could see Bill scowl. 

“I huh-had a strategy! You just ruined it,” he grumbled. Stan only grinned in response.

There was a moment of silence then, and then Stan said, “I wish everyone were here.”

Eddie thought right away of Richie, and how he’d been privately missing him all day. He would’ve started doing commentary on their Monopoly game like it was a pro sports match, and it would’ve had Eddie in stitches even when Bill would tell Richie to stop. And then Richie would, maybe, but he’d catch Eddie’s eye and grin, that bright and brilliant smile that Eddie sometimes felt like Richie reserved for him—

“I wish Bev were here,” Ben said, his voice almost dreamy. “I mean, everyone! Like, I wish Mike was here, too,” he added, cheeks flushed. 

“Me t-too,” Bill said, and Eddie could tell he was talking about Beverly - all of them, of course, but there was a certain weight to what the two had said that Eddie knew came from however it was they felt about Bev. He couldn’t blame them; Bev was pretty and sweet and brave and fun. Eddie remembered the sunlight in her hair in the clubhouse as she’d patched up his knees, and he knew that Ben and Bill were probably recalling similar memories.

Eddie opened his mouth to add something - about Bev, he thought, about wishing she was there or the joke she told earlier or something, but what came out was:

“I wish Richie was back.”

Eddie was surprised to hear himself say the words. Stan looked at him curiously, eyes slightly narrowed. Eddie felt his face heat under Stan’s gaze, and he suddenly felt as though he’d misstepped. Bill and Ben were looking at him too, as though they’d been talking about superheroes and he’d come in hard with something about baseball or Full House - totally off base.

Eddie swallowed. He could tell that his ears were pink, and he was glad it was dark in Bill’s room. 

“I just mean, it feels like it’s been a while already, y’know?” 

It was Stan who spoke in reply. 

“It’s been like, a week.” His voice wasn’t accusatory, but Eddie didn’t know what to make of his tone. Stan was still surveying him, head cocked slightly to the aide. Eddie thought he looked almost like the birds that he loved so much, and the thought of Stan with a beak and feathers was almost enough to make him bust out laughing. 

Instead, Eddie just shrugged. 

“I know.” 

Stan looked at him a moment more, and then he posed a question about the movie they’d gone to see. Eddie almost felt like Stan was doing him a favor by changing the topic, like he’d been able to see how pink Eddie’s face was even in the dark. Eddie hoped he was wrong - how would Stan be able to see that? Why was he all warm, anyways? - but he was grateful for the distraction nonetheless.

They talked for a while, and Eddie was grateful the conversation didn’t drift back to Bev or Richie. They talked about the movie for a while after Stan directed their conversation that way, talking about whether or not it was better than the original, if the explosions looked real, if that was really the sort of technology they would have in the future. They drifted to talking about comics again after a while, and at some point between talking about whether they would rather have Wolverine’s claws or Spiderman’s web slingers, the three boys migrated into their sleeping bags on the floor.

The conversation continued from there, all of them half awake and bleary as they discussed the merits of various comic book hero powers. Ben was the first to fall asleep, and once he was out, the conversation dwindled until the room was silent. 

Eddie was very nearly asleep, curled up in the same sleeping bag he always used when he was at Bill’s house. The room was dark and quiet, just the even sounds of his friends’ breathing filling the space, and then—

“Sure, Eddie Spaghetti!”

Eddie jolted back to alertness as though someone had doused him in icy water. He stayed entirely still, holding his breath as his wide eyes scanned the darkness. After a moment a black, silent nothing, Eddie let out the breath he’d been holding. 

Of course it was nothing. It wasn’t like Richie was going to suddenly materialize next to Eddie on the floor of Bill’s bedroom; that would be ridiculous. Eddie had obviously just been dreaming, or half dreaming, and he’d been just lucid enough to be confused about what was real and what wasn’t.

Eddie rolled over in his sleeping bag, heart still beating harder than usual from the jolt that had dragged him back to awakeness. He’d only been dreaming, he reminded himself, closing his eyes and taking a slow, deep breath. 

Dreaming about Richie, a voice somewhere in the back of his mind pointed out. 

Eddie’s eyes flew open again despite his exhaustion, and his sleeping bag suddenly felt a few degrees warmer. He supposed that was true, if he’d been dreaming - which he had to have been, because the voice he’d heard was certainly Richie’s and there was no Trashmouth to be found in the dark room.

That was...sort of weird, Eddie deigned, to have been...

His thoughts trailed off, as though anyone else would be able to hear them. He was acting stupid, and he knew it, but he felt weird thinking the phrase “dreaming about Richie Tozier”. It was embarrassing, and Eddie knew Richie would have a field day if he ever found out about it - hell, Eddie was pretty sure he would never hear the end of it from any of his friends. Because who does that? 

Eddie sighed, rolling back over onto his side. It was probably just because he’d been thinking about Richie during the day, and he was used to falling asleep at sleepovers with Richie next to him whispering stupidly back and forth until they both passed out. It was probably no big deal.

He remembered the look Stan had given him when Eddie had mentioned wishing Richie was there, and there was a sudden lightheadedness that he didn’t appreciate. It had been such a strange look, which wasn’t actually all that strange for Stan, but Eddie had felt oddly seen. Or maybe seen wasn’t the right word, but caught - caught like someone hearing him think about dreaming about Richie. Almost dreaming about him. Whatever. 

Steering his mind away from that particular phrase, Eddie thought about the conversation that had prompted him to bring up Richie. He supposed the look Stan gave him was because it had been a conversation for Ben and Bill’s crushes on Bev to seep through, and Eddie had totally changed the direction. Eddie was sure that if he’d picked up on it, so had Stan - maybe he’d thought it was weird for Eddie to step in on the moment, or maybe he’d just expected Eddie to share his own crush on Beverly.

The thought made Eddie pause. A crush on Bev? I mean, she was certainly a good friend, and hadn’t Eddie just been thinking earlier about how much he loved her?

He thought about her light touch and gentle voice while she patched him up. No doubt that she was kind, and Eddie would do anything for her. She was brave, too, Eddie thought as he stared into the darkness. She was pretty, he supposed, thinking of her red curls and bright eyes. And she was always willing to take part in whatever they did, and often bested them at it - playing games and jumping at the quarry and whatever else they got into. 

But a crush?

Eddie thought about it for a moment, but it didn’t take long for him to decide that no, that simply wasn’t right. She was a friend; it wasn’t like he stared at her or got nervous and flushed around her like Ben and Bill sometimes did. She was just Bev - sweet, smart, funny, beautiful Bev, but just a friend nonetheless. He had no urge to think about her any more than he would think about, say, Mike, and certainly not to think of her any differently. 

And besides, hadn’t he turned the conversation away from Beverly? Surely if he was also harboring a crush in her that he just didn’t recognize, he never would’ve brought up Richie. It wasn’t like he didn’t realize that Ben and Bill had a certain second layer to their missing her; it wasn’t like they were all that subtle about it. So if he was thinking about missing Richie too, and not just Bev, then there was no way he had a crush on her. 

That train of thought was satisfying enough to Eddie, who had never really considered it before and didn’t feel the need to consider it any further. 

With that out of the way, Eddie decided it was time to try to sleep again. After all, the other three boys were already sleeping, and he was tired. He would’ve been asleep already if he hadn’t been jolted awake by Richie’s stupid voice in his head.

He closed his eyes, curling back up in the sleeping back. Of course Richie would keep him awake, even miles away. Eddie found his brain absentmindedly wandering to getting ice cream with Richie as he waited for sleep; he could see the drip of chocolate down the cone, and the way Richie had stuck his tongue out at Eddie, and the particular way the sun had been making his eyes - huge behind his glasses - look like they were glowing. 

Eddie frowned slightly, brows drawing together with his eyes still closed. This was weird - a weird thing to be thinking about, and he shook his head slightly as though to dispel the image. He felt the same sense of embarrassment as earlier, as though someone would be able to see that in his sleepy mind’s eye he was picturing hanging out with Richie. 

He forced his mind away from that memory, away from thoughts of Richie entirely. Every time his thoughts drifted back, to wondering how Richie was doing or thinking about other memories of the Losers while Richie was there, he rerouted to something - anything - else. 

It took longer than usual for Eddie to fall asleep, but eventually he did, slipping into unconsciousness with a tiny frown still on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooooo yeah! i THINK there should be three more chapters now; im not really happy with the latter third of this one, but i just had to get it done. no more two month breaks - promise! leave a comment if you wanna, it makes my day :D 
> 
> see you guys with another chapter soon (no, really!!)


	7. warm like sunshine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this chapter is like 9k.....enjoy?

Going home after sleeping over at Bill’s felt to Eddie like crawling back to the scene of a crime, or dragging himself back to the war zone. He was surprised when he woke up and was still at Bill’s - Ben still asleep, Stan and Bill already awake and murmuring quietly back and forth. It was a miracle, or close to it, that his mother hadn’t come to drag him away in the night. It was perhaps even more miraculous that Eddie hadn’t simply dreamed up this ideal day of freedom with his friends, that it had happened at all. 

Avoiding the topic of dreams entirely after last night’s strange little dream-phrase, he had eaten breakfast at Bill’s and enjoyed one last hour with his friends before thanking Mrs. Denbrough for allowing him to stay and trudging sadly out the door. It was about ten in the morning when Eddie hopped on his bike and began the painfully slow ride back to his house.

Each push of the pedals felt like a step towards the guillotine, and Eddie didn’t know what to expect hen he got home. A screaming match? Bars on the windows and new locks on the doors? His mother in tears, or eerily calm, or some combination of any of these?

He knew it would be bad, whatever it was going to look like. His stomach was in knots by the time he turned the corner to his street, and he felt like he might throw up by the time he was settling his bike in its place next to the house. 

He stood on the front step, surprised that his mother hadn’t already apprehended him. It wasn’t just that Eddie was afraid - although he very much was - but he didn’t want the reality of the day prior to be over. It was not a stretch to think he might be quarantined at home again for who knows how long as a punishment, or dragged to the emergency room for some malady that only his mother’s eyes could detect. But the thought of not seeing his friends again for any amount of time was unbearable, and Eddie sent out a silent prayer that he would be able to avoid another lonely house arrest.

With a deep breath, Eddie cracked open the door to his own house and stepped inside. 

“Mommy?”

He couldn’t see her from where he stood tentatively in the doorway, but he knew she had to be there. It was only a matter of—

“Eddie? _Eddie_?“ 

His mother’s voice came from down the hall that led to the stairs, and a moment later she appeared in the doorway to the living room. Eddie felt his shoulders tense up, bracing for some sort of impact as she made her way across the room towards him. 

It was good that he had - his mother crossed the living room and grabbed him, crushing him in what might have been a hug but felt more like a vice grip. Eddie could feel her fingers digging into his arm, and for a moment the thought of her smothering him to death flitted through his mind.

“Oh, Eddiebear, I was so worried about you!” Her voice was high, but there was no trace of tears in it. When she pulled back, Eddie couldn’t find a trace of the worry she was talking about in her face; her eyes were hard and dark, and Eddie knew he was in for it. She was still gripping his arms tightly, and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to go take a shower.

“So,” she said, voice clipped. “Where were you?” She almost played at a tone of nonchalance, but the look on her face and the tight grip she had on him made Eddie certain that this was anything but a casual conversation. He took a deep breath before replying.

“I told you. I was with my friends.”

Her face soured, lip curling slightly as she tried to keep up her casual demeanor. 

“But _where_,” she repeated, punctuating the word by squeezing Eddie’s arms tighter, “were you?“

Eddie scanned her face, feeling his heart rate start to pick up slightly. He didn’t know how to steer this conversation away from disaster, whether it was better to be honest or to lie or to do some of both, and whether it would even matter what he said. He decided to be honest, since it wasn’t like she could retroactively go back and whisk him away from his friends, and she liked Bill well enough. 

“I was at Bill’s house, mommy.” She looked at him silently, eyebrows lifting once to indicate he should keep talking. “We just - we went to see a movie, and then he invited us over, and we played Monopoly.” Eddie wished his mother would let go of him. He began tapping his toes inside of his shoe, nervous but unable to move any more than that. “Me and Stan and Ben. And then his parents said we could stay over—“

At that, she interrupted Eddie’s increasingly nervous ramble by saying, “But _I_ didn’t, did I?”

Eddie swallowed hard. “No, but I just—“

“You just wanted to run away on me? You wanted to go out and get hurt or sick, because you know you’re delicate, and you wanted to make me worry?” Her eyes were glinting darkly, and Eddie could feel the conversation starting to tip into the realm of out of control. 

“No, it’s—“ Eddie paused, blinking nervously under his mother’s glare. “His mom said it was okay, and I just hadn’t seen my friends, and you—“

“Sharon isn’t your mother,” she cut in sharply. 

“Well, maybe I wish she was!” Eddie shot back venomously, his mouth moving before he could think about what he was saying. His eyes widened at his own words and he suddenly felt almost sick, his stomach dropping the way it did when he mouthed off to Bowers and knew he was going to end up with a bloody nose and bruises for a week.

Instead of throwing a punch, Sonia blinked at her son, looking like _she’d_ been struck. The silence did nothing to make Eddie feel better - each moment stretched on for a lifetime. He could hear his blood rushing in his ears, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. After what felt like a lifetime, everything sprung into motion. 

“Edward Kaspbrak, how _dare_ you?”

Eddie tripped over his own feet as his mother finally let go of his arms, shoving his towards the closed door. He felt the doorknob jam painfully into his lower back as his hands flailed and scrabbled against the wall to steady him. His head knocked into the wall and he winced, biting back the choice phrases that jumped to mind on impact.

As he’d been tumbling those few steps backwards, his mother had begun ranting at him. 

“—do for you, I take care of you and I love you and you - you act like this? You’re ungrateful,” she spat, and Eddie pressed back against the door. She was almost yelling, her breathing heavy. Eddie observed, fleetingly, that her eyes looked glassy with tears, and for once he wasn’t sure if it was on purpose. “You don’t know anything, you don’t know how hard it is to keep you safe by myself, you don’t understand what it’s like for me—“

“You don’t understand what it’s like for _me_!“ 

Sonia stopped, but Eddie had no intention to do the same. Not now that the dam had broken, that he’d started to speak what he’d been feeling for years.

“You - you act like I’m broken or something, but I’m fine! I can go outside without getting sick and dying, normal kids get sick and get bruises and it’s _fine_!” Eddie was fully yelling now, his breathing shallow. “_Normal_ kids get to hang out with their friends! So yeah, sometimes I wish I had Bill’s mom instead of you, because she treats him like a normal teenager!”

The words were flowing fast now, running into one another. Eddie was absolutely speaking without thinking; everything coming out of his mouth was coming from somewhere deep in his gut, far below what he had consciously considered saying at all. If he’d had time to think of it, he would’ve been able to identify some of what he was saying as rhetoric his friends, Richie and Bev especially, had talked through with him on more than one occasion.

And if he had been at all more calm, he never would’ve been saying these things. A part of him knew they were cruel, another part knew they were dangerous, but most of all, he knew they were true, and as it was he _wasn’t_ more calm, so the words kept coming.

“You can’t just keep me here! I’m not just - just a pet or a toy or something that you can keep locked up and just take out when you want something to play with!”

Eddie stopped then, breathing heavy. He was just as shocked by his words as his mother looked, his hands shaking at his sides. They stared at each other - his mother’s eyes glassy and dark, blinking rapidly as she stared into her son’s brown eyes as they rapidly flitted around the scene.

When the silence was broken, it was by Eddie’s mother.

“Your knees,” she said quietly, her eyes shifting to the bandaids that Bev had placed on them yesterday.

Eddie wanted to scream. After all that he’d said - finally, finally said - she was asking about his scraped knees? His bit back the venom at the back of his throat and exhaled sharply.

“I fell. It’s not a big deal, see? I’m fine,” he stomped his foot once for emphasis. “And before you even say that you were right, that I went out with my friends and got hurt just like you said, it was _Bev_ who helped me after, just like I told you my friends would!” 

He observed his mother’s scowl - she knew who Beverly was, and she obviously believed every bad thing that had ever been said about her. It made Eddie’s blood boil; Bev had been kinder to him, had really cared about him more, than his mother had in months. 

“She’s not...” His mother trailed off. Eddie could practically see the word “clean” on the tip of his mother’s tongue, but whether it had anything to do with Eddie’s glare or not, she opted not to say it. “I could’ve done better. I can help you _better_,“ she said adamantly, and Eddie was struck again with the feeling that he was talking to a child. 

“No,” he said, firmly but no longer dripping venom. “I need my friends, mommy. They help me and take care of me and they make my life better. I’m _supposed_ to have friends.”

His mother’s eyes had gone from shocked to frantic, as though he’d just told her he’d made up his mind to change his name and join the circus, not that it was normal for a teenager to have friends. 

“So you - you’re - you’re choosing them over me?” she sputtered, and Eddie watched her blinking become rapid again as she summoned tears to her eyes. 

“Don’t do that - don’t cry, mom. It’s not gonna work,” Eddie said, and he actually knew that it was true. Something had shifted in him, some sense of understanding that he deserved more than what he had. Even if his mother wouldn’t give it to him. He silently thanked Bev, because he had to believe some of this bravery and surety came from her support.

At Eddie’s words, Sonia had gone pale. The tears had stopped in their tracks, going no further than to cling to her eyelashes. 

“Work? Eddie, how can you—“

“And I told you,” Eddie said, patiently and evenly, “don’t make this a choosing thing. It doesn’t have to be one or the other, I can love you _and_ my friends.”

“_Love_ them?” she wailed, looking piteous. “Eddiebear, this is ridiculous, you’re not thinking straight, you need to stay here with _me_—!”

Eddie closed his eyes for a moment, wishing that this was over. 

“I’m here with you right now. I’ll be here,” he said tiredly. “But you’re not the only person in my life, mommy. And if you - if you want me to be here once I have a choice, you can’t - I don’t want it go be like this. You have to stop trying to keep me here, not when I need my friends and they need me and I need to be out there, doing stuff and like, learning.” He petered off near the end, at a loss for how to express what felt so obvious to him. 

His mother was silent, looking at him with her lips parted. Eddie couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but he didn’t want to argue any more. 

Before she could say anything, he added, “I’m gonna go take a shower,” and slipped past her. He considered briefly whether he should kiss her cheek, but decided against it; that had always been at her insistence, and he would be lying if he said the thought didn’t make his stomach sink after a confrontation like that.

She didn’t try to stop him, and Eddie breathed a shaky sigh of relief when he made it past her without her grabbing at him to keep him there. He left her gaping at the door and made his way towards the stairs, unbelievably weary for so early in the day. He became aware of how badly his hands were shaking as he trudged up the stairs, suddenly realizing everything he had just said. 

It wasn’t that Eddie regretted what he’d said - he meant every word, and he had needed to say as much for a long time. But as he opened the door to his room, it really hit him what a bomb he’d dropped. His mother seemed entirely shocked, though whether that was in genuine response to his words or just the fact that he’d said something, Eddie didn’t know. He didn’t know what the fallout would be; would she take his words to heart, let him be a normal kid, loosen her grip? Or would it all backfire, and he would suddenly find himself on his way to the emergency room, stuck there and his house for the rest of his life?

Eddie felt sick at the prospect. He wished Bev were there - she would understand. She would know how he was feeling, she would get it, Eddie knew she would. But as it was, Eddie was alone.

With a shaky breath, Eddie grabbed some clean clothes from his dresser and headed for the bathroom. All he could do, he supposed, was try to keep his breakfast down, brush his teeth, wash off the layer of grime that - now that he was aware of it - was making him itch, and wait. 

* * *

Much to Eddie’s relief, it seemed like the aftermath was more in his favor than against it. The house was tense, and his mother seemed equally as unpredictable as before, but she didn’t try to keep him in the house for days at a time anymore. She was still protective, smotheringly so, but it became a sort of game. Eddie would stay home and watch shows with her, do chores, stare at the ceiling - whatever it took to pass the time. And as a balance, he went out with his friends every now and then. Sometimes he could get free for an entire day, sometimes just an hour, but there were no more screaming matches. He suspected that this was less about her realizing Eddie was right and that he deserved some freedom and more about his vague threat to eventually disappear from her life, once he was old enough to, if she kept up the way she had been. 

Eddie felt badly about it as much as he was glad for the change. He knew his mother loved him, and was only trying to help, but—it had just been too much. He’d needed to say something, and he wouldn’t take it back even if he could, but that didn’t mean he didn’t sometimes feel the guilt like a stone in his gut for having done it. 

It had made him feel better, after several extremely tense days at home, when he finally got out again and was able to see his friends. To see Bev, especially. He’d been right; she understood what he said, whispered quietly to her as the Losers walked to the quarry to hang out. It had felt like a weight lifted from him when he’d told her what happened: the sleepover, the aftermath. 

She’d looked at him when he finished his harried relating of all that had happened, and Eddie felt like he was looking into a sort of mirror. He could tell that she felt it, too - his guilt, his anger, his relief. She’d slung an arm around his shoulders and squeezed him in a sort of half hug as they walked, and Eddie had felt better for the first time in days.

The summer continued on that way, a tentative balance of being home and being free, little stolen hours and days with his friends making time fly by. They explored the junkyard, swam at the quarry, saw movies, hung out at the clubhouse. Eddie enjoyed the hammock, but found he somehow missed having to push Richie out of the way to get in it. Movies weren’t the same without Richie’s dumb commentary, and neither were the times when he and his friends would just find somewhere - anywhere, as long as they were together - to hang out. There were more sleepovers, more board games, more late nights spent talking, and Eddie found himself, however briefly it was, missing Richie at all of them. 

He still couldn’t wait to tell Richie that he’d stood up to his mother, even more so than before. Of course, Bev was the first to know now, but Eddie didn’t feel like telling anyone else. He knew his friends would understand, would support him, but he just didn’t want to. Beverly understood, she could relate, he didn’t have to try to find the perfect words because she just got it. And Richie - well, Eddie knew he would get it, too. And he would be happy to hear that it happened, and he would be proud, and Eddie found himself thinking more than once about exactly _what_ Richie would do.

It was perhaps the longest month of Eddie’s life, thinking of and shoving away those thoughts of Richie, dealing with the new climate at home, finding time to see his friends. But as summer vacation always seems, it was also an incredibly fast month by the time he was at the end of it and looking back. In simultaneously decades of waiting and the blink of an eye, it was time for Richie to come home.

The whole group was going to get together to hang out - the _real_ whole group, finally. Richie had told them that he would be back by the afternoon, so they were going to meet at his house around 2:00 and go from there.

Eddie checked his watch - it was almost quarter to 2:00, which meant it was nearly time to go. He’d been staying at home more the past few days, making a point of being exceptionally well behaved. It had all been for today, and he hoped he could cash in and slip out of the house with his mother’s begrudging approval. 

Eddie walked over to his mirror, running a hand through his hair. It was the longest it had been in a long while, curling into the unruly waves his mother hated. Eddie wondered if she had given up on forcing him to keep it short, or if she’d just forgotten due to their more pressing recent issues. 

He didn’t bother trying to tame his hair too extensively, knowing it would hardly matter anyways. Still, he made an effort to smooth some of the curls down, and he found that he was sort of nervous. He didn’t want to look stupid for Richie’s first day back home, although he didn’t understand at all where the impulse to double check his appearance in the mirror because of that came from, or where the idea of “looking stupid” came from at all. 

After tucking and untucking his shirt a few times - he decided to leave it tucked just in the front - Eddie stepped away from the mirror. Another glance at his watch told him it was time to go, so he headed out of his room and downstairs. 

The television was on, some meaningless midday show burbling away. Eddie could see his mother in her chair, and he opted to go down the hallway through the kitchen rather than pass in front of the television, hoping to minimize his interaction with his mother. He made it as far as the front door, where he stopped to put on his sneakers before she called out his name. 

“Yeah?” he asked, shuffling awkwardly into the doorway of the living room as he tied his shoe.

“Where are you going?” 

Her tone was surprisingly calm, eyes lazily observing him as he switched to the other shoe.

“I’m just going to see my friends,” he said. She gave him a look then, eyebrows rising slightly, indicating he should elaborate. “It’s...” he trailed off, finishing tying his shoe as a way of avoiding saying it. 

“Richie is coming home today.”

Eddie didn’t need to look at his mother’s face to know what was happening - her brows had probably fallen, her lip curling slightly. She always looked the same way when he talked about Richie, and Eddie hated it. But this wasn’t the day for a fight, not when he was finally going to get to see Richie again, so he kept his mouth shut even when he looked up and was proven entirely right. 

“I don’t care for him,” she said plainly, her expression growing stormy. “He’s a bad influence on you, Eddiebear.”

“Mom,” Eddie said, half exasperated and half pleading. “I’ve been planning to hang out with them today for weeks, I’ve been staying home and doing everything you ask and—“ He stopped, letting out a tiny huff. “I’m gonna go see my friends, I’ll be back later.”

He thought, for one agonizing moment, that his mother wasn’t going to let him go. She stared at him, frowning that specific, disgusted frown that she got whenever she thought too hard about Eddie’s friends. Eddie was about to try to say something else when she finally broke the silence. 

“I don’t like it.”

“I know,” Eddie said quietly. “I’m sorry.” He was, but it was also habit, too. She stared at him again, and the guilt of leaving began to grow in Eddie’s gut. 

“Be home by half past five for dinner,” she said finally, and Eddie felt like he deflated in relief. 

“Yes mommy, thanks, see you later!” 

He yanked the door open, acutely aware of his mother’s gaze on him as he did so. He made a concentrated effort not to slam the door behind him, leaping down the steps and onto the sidewalk as soon as it clicked shut after him. From there it was a fast several steps around the side of the house, a moment to grab his bike, and then he was off, pedaling down the street. 

It was a fairly short ride to Richie’s house - just down the street for a few blocks, turn the corner, and a few blocks more. Eddie was pedaling fast, smiling into the wind as it blew against his face, because finally all the Losers would be together again. It had been such an exhausting summer already, and not having everyone around had been much harder than Eddie would’ve ever guessed. Even ignoring all the issues with his mother, he’d never expected that it would be so noticeably difficult to spend an entire month without—

“Richie!”

Eddie hadn’t really meant to yell it, but when the Tozier’s house came into view with that identifiable figure standing amongst several in the driveway, he couldn’t help it. Richie’s face turned towards him, breaking out into a bright grin when he say who it was. 

“Eds!” he called back excitedly, waving one gangly arm in greeting. 

Eddie laughed, not even caring enough to tell Richie not to call him that. He could see as he made it to the driveway that Bill, Mike, and Stan were already there. A moment later, he was dumping his bike on the grass and bounding over to his friends.

Richie was still grinning at him, having stopped whatever conversation he was having with the other boys to wait for Eddie to get there. 

“So,” he said, and Eddie could’ve laughed out loud at how nice it was just to have him back. “Is Mrs. K coming? Because y’know, I’ve really missed h—ey!” Eddie had shoved him during the middle of his bit, and he tipped onto one leg at the sudden impact.

“Glad to see the whole month really paid off,” Stan said dryly as Richie wrapped an arm around Eddie’s shoulder’s to rebalance himself. 

“Yeah,” Eddie added. “A whole month away and that’s what you come back with?”

Richie grinned, his nose inches away from Eddie’s as he pulled Eddie towards him with the arm around his shoulders. 

“Ah, Eds. You know what say: if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it!” 

Eddie rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t stop the smile playing at the edges of his lips at the familiarity of it all. He could tell Richie noticed the tiny smile, his eyes flicking down to observe it and then back up to Eddie’s own. They seemed to glow in the afternoon sun, a golden sort of brown. Eddie wondered why he’d never noticed that they caught the sun like this before today.

“Well I don’t think that cuh-cuh-counts when the thing never worked t-to begin with, Rich,” Bill cut in, and the spell was broken. 

“Ah, Bill,” Richie said with an air of mock gravitas, “you’ll understand some day when you’re in love.”

Mike shook his head, and Eddie found himself ducking out from under Richie’s arm just as another voice said, “Who’s in love?”

The five boys turned their attention towards the end of the driveway; Bev was dropping her bike on the grass, and Eddie was about to wave to her when Richie bounded towards her in front of him.

“Why, Miss Scawlett, its me! Aye loves you,” he crooned, dropping down onto one exaggerated knee. “Say you loves me, I’m pleadin’ wit you!” 

Bev let out a laugh, shaking her head at Richie’s clasped hands. 

“Maybe next time,” she grinned, pushing his shoulder. He stood up, and she pulled him into a hug. “Good to have you back, Rich. That voice needs some work, though,” she adding, laughing as they pulled apart.

“Aye aye, Miss Marsh,” Richie said, saluting her. 

The other four boys had made their way down the driveway as well by then. 

“Hi, Bev,” Bill said, and the other three gave a little echoing chorus of greetings to her. Eddie met her eye and smiled, waving loosely. She grinned back, and simply said, “Hey guys!”

Before they could say anything else, another figure appeared from around the corner, pedaling towards them on a bike.

“Haystack!” Richie whooped, waving again. Ben yelled something back that sounded like “Hey Richie!”, and a few moments later he was dumping his bike in the grass, too.

“The gang’s all here!” Richie said gleefully, looking around like a child on Christmas morning. “What shall we do, my good fellows? And beautiful madam,” he added winking at Bev. “Go to the cinema? Play a rousing game of Street Fighter? Perhaps go for a right little swim?”

“What voice is that even supposed to be, Richie?” Stan asked, but he was grinning.

Before Richie could answer, Mike cut in. 

“I was thinking we could just go hang out at the clubhouse - I wanna hear all about camp, Rich! Preferably not in whatever voice that just was, though,” he added.

“Right-o, Mikey! Let’s go then, and I’ll regale you with my grand tales from the far off land of summer camp!” 

Before anyone else said a word, Richie was running towards his garage. A moment later he was back, bike in tow.

“What are you guys all waiting for? Let’s go!”

Eddie rolled his eyes, but the other six kids sprang into motion, picking up their own bikes as Richie rode in excited circles in the street. Once they were all just about up, he shot off down the road, yelling over his shoulder for them to “catch up already!”. 

Eddie laughed as he pushed off, pedaling hard to try to make up the head start Richie had. This was what had been missing - that endless energy, that infectious excitement. He could tell that the rest of the Losers felt it too, all of them smiling in the sunshine as they made their way down the street and towards the clubhouse; there was just something special about the seven of them all together again, and Eddie could swear it made everything brighter.

A few minutes later, they got to the Barrens. Richie had kept up his lead, and was already running towards the trees when Eddie got there, just as Bill and Mike dropped their bikes in the grass. Eddie did the same; behind him, the other three kids rolled into the area. Eddie was sure that Bev and Ben were dumping their bikes where they stood, and Stan was certainly being sure to leave his standing carefully upright. He didn’t have to look to know that, and he didn’t. Instead, he hurried to follow Mike and Bill, rushing down to the trees.

They all seemed to be feeling the energy of being back together, and soon they were all three running through the trees. They could hear motion behind them, and Richie ahead of them, yelling assorted bits of profanity. Eddie couldn’t help but think of how different this was from last time he’d been running down the same path weeks ago, the day of the fight. He shook it from his mind as he and his friends slammed to a stop next to the open entry to the clubhouse, breathing hard. Richie and Bill had already descended into the clubhouse, and Mike was on the ladder as Eddie waited.

Bev, Stan, and Ben appeared from the trees moments later, equally breathless, just as Eddie got his foot on the first rung of the ladder. He flashed them another grin as he moved down, and then dropped onto the dirt floor. 

“Jeez, Eds! Took you long enough!”

Eddie blinked, zeroing in on where Richie’s voice was coming from - it was, of course, the hammock.

“Okay, first of all, don't call me that,” Eddie grumbled, making his way over to Richie.

He was laying in the hammock with his hands behind his grinning cheekily up at Eddie. “And second, stop hogging the hammock!” He poked Richie in the chest, which he responded to by clutching at his chest in mock agony.

"But Eduardo, I just got back! Will you really deny me this, the simple pleasure of laying in a hammock?” Richie gave a flutter of his eyelashes and Eddie rolled his eyes at him. 

“Yes, I will,” he said, situating one foot in the hammock, “and if you don’t move I will _literally_ sit on top of you.”

“So forward, Eds,” Richie said, grinning, but he shimmied into a more upright position and pulled his knees closer to his chest to give Eddie room to get in. Eddie did, holding the edges of the fabric to keep balanced as he lifted himself in. The hammock wasn’t as big as it had seemed when they were kids - Eddie and Richie both had to pull their knees in to fit at all, and still they ended up a tangled mess of legs. 

Eddie had missed it, but what he said was, “Y’know, if you weren’t so freakishly tall this wouldn’t be a problem.”

Richie pretended to act hurt, but came back with “If you weren’t so stubborn, you wouldn’t have to worry about it!”

“Oh, sure, blame it on me—“

“You could get out if you wanted to!” Richie interjected, and Eddie knew he had a point. He could feel a vague heat in his cheeks that he hoped wasn’t visible, but all he said was, “Well, I’m staying here.”

Richie blinked, observing him. Eddie _really_ hoped he wasn’t blushing.

“Um, guys?”

Eddie snapped back to reality - a reality where the other five of his friends had all made their way to various seated positions in the clubhouse, and were all watching, bemused, as Richie and Eddie squabbled over the hammock. 

“Sorry,” Eddie said, mildly embarrassed, at the same time that Richie said, “And _scene_! First performance of the season, we’ll be here all night, folks!”

Their friends just shook their heads. Richie being away from a month hadn’t made them forget the consistent bickering, but it did make it more noticeable. 

“Anyways,” Mike said pointedly, “tell us about camp, Richie!”

Richie didn’t need to be asked twice. He dove straight into a string of exciting anecdotes, each one sounding more fantastic than the last. The other Losers listened intently, occasionally throwing in their thoughts or commentary on whatever Richie had just said. For Eddie’s part, he listened and watched. Richie kept accidentally hitting Eddie’s leg while gesturing wildly to enhance his stories, and after the third time, Eddie kicked him in the thigh. 

“—and like I said, they were twins, and - hey!” He stopped his story and turned his attention to Eddie. “What was that for?”

“You’ve hit me like, five times while you’ve been talking, genius!” Eddie huffed.

Richie paused for a moment, then grinned. “I just can’t keep my hands off of you, Eds! Too cute,” he added, resting the hand he’d been articulating with on Eddie’s shin. 

Eddie felt the heat rise in his face again, just slightly, and mumbled, “Whatever. Just stop hitting me.”

“Sure, Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie said, punctuating his agreement with two tiny kissy noises. He jumped back into his story, then, but Eddie was barely hearing it. 

That had been exactly the phrase he’d dreamt - that he’d _thought_ he heard Richie say that night at Bill’s, word for word. Eddie hadn’t thought about that much since it happened because it was stupid and weird and he had more pressing things to think about, but it was striking how well his mind had been able to recreate Richie’s exact voice and tone. 

Eddie was struck, suddenly, by the realness of Richie in comparison; he was right there, talking animatedly about some sort of joke writing class he’d taken at camp, dipping in and out of various voices as he spoke. He was physically there, legs brushing Eddie’s, hand still gently resting on Eddie’s shin. Eddie could see the the light scar on Richie’s chin from the time he’d flown over the handlebars of his bike while trying to jump a homemade ramp, could watch Richie’s eyes flick between their friends’ faces as he spoke. It was such a real, tangible closeness that Eddie suddenly felt a little bit warm, and he blinked a few times in an attempt to dispel it. 

He forced himself to tune back in to what Richie was saying, ignoring whatever weird flush he was experiencing.

“—so we all went back to our cabin, and the counsellors never even found out!” Richie finished, apparently at the end of some grand story.

“B-b-bullshit, Rich,” Bill said, but he was smiling.

“Which part?” Richie asked.

“All of it, but there’s no wuh-way that the thing with the bear actually happened,” Bill clarified, rolling his eyes.

“You would totally be dead,” Stan added, deadpan.

“Nonsense! Just because you guys aren’t hardcore enough for it,” Richie said, puffing out his chest, “doesn’t mean _I’m_ not!”

Stan gazed exasperatedly upwards, annoyed to the casual observer, but Eddie could see the tiny smile on the edge of his lips.

“You gonna ditch us for your more extreme new friends, Tozier?” Bev asked, teasingly. 

“No way, Marsh,” Richie shot back. “You’re not getting rid of me just like that,” he added. “Besides, they didn’t like my Voices.”

“Neither do we,” Stan quipped as Eddie chimed in, “Can’t blame them.”

Richie laughed, then turned back to face Eddie. 

“None of them were as cute cute _cute_ as you, either, Eds.” He winked, and Eddie hit the hand that was on his leg. 

“What about the tuh-totally real college girl you met?” Bill asked, teasing. Eddie had no idea who Bill was talking about - it must have been watch Richie was talking about when Eddie wasn’t paying attention - but he was paying attention presently, intently looking at Richie.

“Yeah, Rich,” Ben added, mischievously. “I thought you said she looked like Demi Moore.”

Richie sighed wistfully, flopping back in the hammock.

“She did, Ben. She totally did, and it’s a shame that she’s from Canada and didn’t give me her number after our totally serious make out session.” Stan snorted at this. “She just didn’t have those Kaspbrak genes, though.”

There was a beat of silence, then, and Eddie felt the same annoying flush wash over him. He opened his mouth to say something in response, but before he could, Richie said, “I am of course talking about the _lovely_ Mrs. K. How’s she been holding up without me, Edward Spaghettward? I should probably go see her, y’know, I’m sure she’s been missing—“

“Beep beep,” Bev interjected, and Eddie wasn’t surprised to find that she was looking at him. He gave a tiny grateful smile in response. 

“She’s been fine, asshole. Glad not to have you around, actually,” Eddie said, and Richie stuck his tongue out in response. 

“Anyways, what have you all been doing while I was gone? Sitting around crying? Listening to mopey music? Staring out of car windows dramatically in the rain?” Richie asked, then made an exaggerated crying face. 

“Hardly,” Stan scoffed.

“Only on Tuesdays,” Mike said, grinning.

“I’ll take it,” Richie replied. “But seriously, what have you guys been up to! What’d I miss!”

He looked around the clubhouse, waiting for someone to fill him in. The Losers all seemed to be considering it; Eddie, for his part, didn’t know what to say. He’d missed so many days that had his friends had spent together, and the only thing he really wanted to fill Richie in on was the reason why, but he wasn’t about to get into that in the middle of the clubhouse.

“I dunno,” Ben said, the first to speak. “Just normal stuff, I guess.”

Richie let out a dramatic groan. “Really? I spend like, two hours spinning you all the greatest tales known to man - I’m talking like, three movie series deal level shit, the real good stuff, action packed, award winning quality content - and you give me ‘normal stuff’?” The last two words were said in an exaggerated tone, and Richie screwed up his face and stuck out his tongue at the end of the words. “Boring! Come on, did you all forget how to have fun when I left?”

Bev opened her mouth to say something, but Richie was fully in his theatrics. 

“That’s touching and all, but seriously! You guys must’ve been doing something, and I wanna hear about it!” He turned back to face Eddie, leaning forwards and putting his chin on his hands. “How about you, Eds? C’mon, give it to me - what’s been going on?”

Richie fluttered his eyelashes, looking up at Eddie.

“Um. What?” Eddie said dumbly, caught off guard by being singled out. 

Before Richie could say anything, Bill said, “Duh-don’t bother interrogating Eddie, he h-h-h-hasn’t been able to hang out that muh-much.” 

Eddie was suddenly extremely aware of the conversation. Richie, who had turned to Bill when he spoke, snapped his attention back to Eddie with narrowed eyes. Eddie saw Bev out of the corner of his eye shift towards him just slightly, as if on guard to redirect the conversation if necessary. 

“I mean,” Eddie said, feeling warm under Richie’s suspicious gaze. He swallowrd thickly, not sure what he was supposed to say. “I’ve been around, it’s not like—“

“You didn’t wanna hang out with these chumps if I wasn’t around?” Richie cut in, grinning. “Aw, Eds, that’s so cute! But you gotta share the love,” he said, winking. 

“Don’t call me Eds,” Eddie protested weakly, but he was just grateful that Richie had interjected before Eddie had to decide what to say. 

“Oh, that the only objection?” Richie challenged. “You heard him,” he continued, facing the other Losers. “Little Eddie Spaghetti is only here for me, he’s totally—“

“Okay, that is so not true!” Eddie said, shoving Richie’s leg. “I was loving the peace and quiet around here without you, actually,” he added, fighting the urge to stuck out his tongue. 

Stan mumbled something from the other side of the clubhouse that Eddie couldn’t quite make out, but apparently the others who were closer to him could; Bill snorted, and Eddie could see Mike grinning.

Evidently Richie couldn’t hear it either, because he said, “What was that, Staniel?”

Stan looked up at him from the comic book he was leafing through; Eddie thought he must've grabbed in the past few minutes, while he and Richie had been squabbling. 

“I said, ‘There was peace and quiet until you guys started arguing like an old married couple, like you always do’,” he repeated lazily. 

This time Bev and Ben sort of laughed, too, but Eddie just shook his head. 

“It’s not my fault Richie is immature!” he exclaimed, but everyone knew he didn’t really mean it. 

“Yeah, sure, Eds,” Richie said, rolling his eyes. “You love our bickering, married couple or not.” 

“Whatever,” Eddie said, crossing his arms over his chest. 

After a moment, Ben actually started to tell Richie about some of the stuff they’d done in his absence, starting with a day they’d gone to the quarry. Mike jumped in then to tell Richie about when the Losers all came over to help him on the farm in exchange for fresh lemonade and a few hours afterwards spent listening to Mike’s family’s record collection. The stories started flowing faster then, one after another from everyone sitting in the clubhouse. Eddie even chimed in about the few times he’d been able to hang out with his friends - going to see the new Terminator movie, that day they went to the arcade, going to the junkyard. 

Their stories weren’t nearly as grand or fantastic as Richie's had been, and there were infinitely less Voices, but it was still incredibly fun to share back and forth, laughing at the events of past few weeks. 

Richie seemed to be enjoying himself too, Eddie realized. He noticed Richie in the corner of his eye while Bev animatedly told a story about when she, Bill, and Mike had nearly been caught poking around the junkyard - he was listening intently, totally focused. He’d been making small comments here and there, jokes when the Losers walked right into them, but Eddie suddenly realized just how interested Richie genuinely seemed to be in all the normal, everyday nothing they were telling him about. There was a tiny, fond smile on his face, his eyes alight with the happiness of being reconnected with his friends. Eddie watched him as he watched Bev, happy to have him back. 

Bill jumped in next, and by then they’d gotten all the way up to the events of the previous day. He picked up where Eddie left off after the movie, talking about the ride to his house. 

“And then we guh-got to my house and played Monopoly,” he said, scrunching up his nose. “And Stan tuh-tuh-totally cheated,” he added. 

“Okay, Bill,” Stan scoffed from where he was sitting.

“So maybe he didn’t,” Bill ceded, shrugging at Richie, “but like, he still did, y’know?” 

“You lost again, huh?” Richie said, grinning.

Bill scowled, but Stan just said, “Yep,” popping the p. 

“Nothing new, then,” Richie said cheerfully, to which Bill flipped him off. “Love ya too, Big Bill,” Richie said in reply, grinning.

Unrelated to the scene before him, Eddie had a sudden thought; he lifted his wrist to check his watch, and —

“Oh, shit!”

He sat up straight in the hammock, nearly tipping it.

“What? What?” Richie asked, holding the edges of the hammock in an effort to steady it. The other Losers asked the same, watching with concern as Eddie scrambled to get out of the hammock without crushing Richie. 

“I forgot that - the time!” he said quickly, almost falling over when his foot got caught on the edge of the hammock. Richie caught his arm just in time, yanking him upright. 

Eddie shot him a quick look of thanks, extracting his foot from the fabric. 

“I gotta - I gotta go,” he explained, rushing to get the words out. “My mom said I had to be back home in like, ten minutes.” He had more like fifteen minutes, but he liked to leave time in case...well, in case of something, he didn’t know what it might be—

“I’ll go too,” Richie said quickly, unfolding his long legs. “Gotta unpack and stuff, and ole Went and Maggie wanted me home for dinner too. I’m a hot commodity,” he said weakly. 

Eddie was already standing with one foot on the ladder as Richie clambered up out of the hammock. 

“This has been fun, guys,” he said, speaking fast. “Sorry I gotta leave so soon.” 

“No big deal, Eddie,” Bev said, smiling kindly. 

“Yuh-yeah,” Bill added.

Eddie just smiled, looking suddenly tired, then started to climb up the ladder. 

“Bye!” he yelled as he disappeared through the entrance to the clubhouse, and then a moment later, “Richie, you better hurry up!”

Eddie could hear Richie saying goodbye, could hear his voice getting louder until he too popped out of the clubhouse and joined Eddie. He tossed one final “See ya!” down to the rest of their friends before he followed Eddie back through the trees, towards their bikes. 

They didn’t talk on the short walk back through the forest, Eddie walking at an awkward speed just before a jog, Richie trailing after him. Eddie checked his watch again, even though it had only been a minute since he realized he had to leave at all. 

They got to their bikes in no time, and it was as they were both picking them up that Richie broke the silence. 

“So,” he said, letting the O sound linger. He and Eddie were both getting situated on their bikes as he continued. “How have you been, really?”

Eddie was caught off guard, almost losing his tentative balance on his bike as he began to pedal. 

“What?”

Richie was riding next to him, gliding down the street. 

“You just - you seemed sorta freaked when Bill said you hadn’t been around as much,” he said, and Eddie was taken aback that had noticed, and that he was bringing it up.

He realized in retrospect that Richie’s bickering with him after that (“like an old married couple”) had been a way of diverting attention from it. Eddie felt warm, and was grateful for the breeze on his cheeks as they pedaled away from the Barrens.

“Oh,” he said, because he didn’t know where to start. 

“_Oh_,” Richie replied, and Eddie could sense a joke was incoming if he didn’t spit it out soon.“It’s just my mom,” he blurted out, grip tightening on his handlebars. 

“Ah, the wonderful Missus K,” Richie intoned, and Eddie could hear the dislike in his voice. “How is she? Besides missing me, or whatever,” he added, but it was a weak excuse for Richie’s usual boisterousness about the subject. Eddie knew that was for his benefit.

“We’ve been fighting,” he said plainly, trying to think of the most succinct way to say it. “It got - it got pretty ugly. She didn’t want me leaving the house for a while, wouldn’t let me hang out with anyone or go out on my own.”

Richie was silent, listening. Eddie was grateful, but not surprised; as much as Richie liked to make jokes, he knew how and when to listen when it came to his friends, at least most of the time. 

“She thinks you’re all, like, turning me into a bad kid or something,” he mumbled, rolling to a stop. He decided there was no reason for him to say that she thought Richie, specifically, was a bad influence. “It was like, a lot of screaming about it.” 

“Well, she’s stupid,” Richie said bluntly, squeezing the brakes on his own bike to come to a stop next to Eddie. 

Eddie looked at Richie, who was already looking at him. They were on the corner where they had to part ways, and Eddie was reminded of the last time they’d been in this exact spot: the day before Richie left, which felt like ages ago.

“I did it, though,” Eddie said, finally spitting it out. At Richie’s look of confusion, Eddie clarified: “I, y’know. I sorta stood up for myself. Told her that I wanted to go out and have friends and that like, she should let me be a normal kid. It was - it was a mess,” Eddie said, words stumbling into one another.

That didn’t seem to matter at all to Richie, whose face was alight. 

“Eddie, that’s - that’s amazing!” He seemed to mean it, his tone full of awe, his eyes huge behind his glasses. Richie swung his leg over his bike, shoving the kickstand out. “Seriously, dude,” he said, yanking Eddie into a hug. “That’s awesome. _You’re_ awesome.”

Eddie blinked, head turned against Richie’s shoulder. He brought his arms up loosely around Richie, feeling incredibly relieved to have finally told him. Richie seemed just as happy as Eddie had thought he would be at the news - he’d always said it was time for Eddie to put his foot down. Eddie thought of stomping his foot for emphasis just a few days prior and almost laughed. 

“She fucking sucks, though,” Richie said, and Eddie could hear the grin in his voice. He pulled away then, and Eddie didn’t know what to say. 

“Yeah.”

“It’s about time, y’know?” Richie said happily, swinging his leg back over his bike. “You better tell me about it later, spaghetti man,” he added. “I wanna hear all about how my evil plan to make you into a rebellious, evil teen finally paid off.” 

Eddie was listening, but he was also suddenly acutely aware of the way the sun was catching in Richie’s hair, and the way his whole face lit up at his own joke, and the way that he had a few ghostly freckles along his cheekbones. 

“Uh, yeah,” Eddie said, blinking back to reality. “Sure.” And then, as an afterthought, he said, “Thanks, Rich.”

The smile Richie shot him back was blindingly bright. “‘Course, Eds.”

“You better get going, right?” he added, angling his front tire to turn down the street in the direction of his house. 

“Oh, shit - yeah, she’s still like—“ Eddie broke off, giving a little exasperated sigh. 

“I know,” Richie said sagely. “Get outta here, rebel man! I’d say see you later, but I promise no more late night visits with Mrs. K - I’m with you all the way, buddy. Stick it to the man!” he said, slipping into some sort of horrible accent Eddie couldn’t identify and throwing up a fist. 

“Or woman, I guess,” Richie pondered, sitting back on his bike.

“That was horrible, Rich,” Eddie said, but he was laughing. The relief of finally having told Richie was flowing through him like sunlight, and the warm reception had been exactly what Eddie had hoped for. 

“You loved it, Eds!” Richie said, shoving his foot against the pedal and beginning to roll down the street. “See ya tomorrow, okay?” He asked over his shoulder, smiling huge at Eddie over his shoulder as he pealed away. 

Eddie just watched him go, feeling warm and a little woozy in the face of the impromptu conversation they’d just had. Eddie watched Richie’s back until he turned the corner, then checked his watch - he had two minutes. 

“Crap,” he muttered, shoving off towards his own house. He pedaled as fast as he could, rolling down the street at top speed. It only took a minute or so for him to get home, and he shoved his bike unceremoniously against the house after hopping off of it.

“I’m home!” he yelled, just in the nick of time. He kicked off his shoes, making his way towards his room. His mother was in the kitchen and didn’t stop him, just made a vague noise of ascent that she knew he had obeyed her curfew. 

He scurried up the stairs, making a beeline for his room. 

Eddie flopped down on his bed moments later, letting out a little satisfied sigh. 

After laying still for a moment with his eyes closed, Eddie realized he was still riding high from the day, from all that happened with his friends and Richie and his mad dash to get home. He put a hand to his cheeks and found they were warm to the touch, and he was sure if he looked in the mirror they would be tinged pink. His heart was beating a bit too fast, too, and he felt a little woozy as he laid on his bed. 

It was fine, he reasoned. He was just still reeling from the day and from Richie being back and from biking home so fast and from telling Richie what had happened and—

And from the bright, bright smile Richie had given him, and the hug that had played out almost exactly like Eddie’s brain had been so insistent that it should when he had imagined telling Richie, and from the way his eyes had lit up when Eddie told him what he’d done, and...

He thought, suddenly, of the poem Ben had showed him once - something about butterflies and ribcages and heat like sunshine on your face, about bright hair and a smile that made you want to smile back. It all seemed to fit, somehow, even though Eddie knew that poem had been about Beverly.

Eddie’s eyes flew open suddenly, but the image of Richie’s bright eyed grin remained in his mind. The rush of blood in his ears didn’t go away, and neither did the stupid fluttery beating of his heart in his chest. He blinked once, twice, took a deep breath - but it was just Richie in his mind’s eye, and the stupid wooziness in his head, and—

Oh shit, Eddie thought, staring up at his ceiling. Ben had been right about it all - the butterfly feeling, the heat, the stupid, shiny hair that caught your eye, the grin that warmed you like the sun. But this wasn’t about Bev, not now as Eddie stared up at his ceiling wide eyed, heart racing almost as fast as his mind.

“Shit,” he whispered to no one but his ceiling, and suddenly it was like he could see for the first time. 

“_Shit_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there you have it!!!! we finally got that oh. OH. moment, so now the ball is really rolling. glad to have richie back, too! i hope you enjoyed this chapter, let me know by leaving a comment :D 
> 
> also, this fic is now officially the longest work ive ever written so like! LetsCelebrateThat.gif or whatever!!!!


	8. taped up magnets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another longish one :')

“Eddiebear, what’s wrong? You’re hardly eating.”

Eddie was sitting at the table, poking absently at the vegetables in front of him. His leg bounced under the table, a quirk he didn’t often partake in but had picked up from Richie. He swallowed hard, stabbing a piece of broccoli.

“Are you getting sick?”

His mother was sitting on the other side of table watching him hawkishly, looking moments away from calling the doctor. Eddie did feel sick and jittery, but it wasn’t in any capacity that a visit to the doctor or a new pill would fix - still, he worried that somehow his mother would be able to tell from looking at him what was wrong, that she would be able to diagnose him as she so often did with what was invisible to any other eye. The thought made him even more sick, and he shook his head silently without looking at her

It had only been minutes after he’d had his revelation that she had yelled up at him to come down for dinner. Eddie had felt like he weighed a million pounds, nervous and heavy with new understanding as he trudged down the stairs.

Sitting at the table wasn’t any easier. Eddie felt like his feelings were going to shine through his face or poor out of his mouth if he opened it, and he was doing his best not to think about anything. He couldn’t work through it there at their uneven kitchen table, his mother gazing at him with heavy, probing eyes. He needed to, though - work through it. It was a fruitless effort trying not to think about whatever exactly this was. It felt like trying to stop a river, except there was no Ben to teach him how to build a dam, so the water just kept pushing through and knocking down his poorly made piles of dirt.

“Eddie—“

“I’m fine,” he said, finally looking up at her. He prayed that she wouldn’t read anything on his face or see in his eyes what was going on. “I just have a headache. I didn’t drink enough water today, I forgot,” he said, words a bit too fast. He knew it was a risky move to say he was feeling any sort of less than perfectly healthy, but he thought he might explode if he couldn’t get away from the table soon.

“You know better, Eddiebear,” his mother tsked, shaking her head slightly. “This is what happens when you’re out all day...” She trailed off, still looking at him intently as though she would be able to see a physical indication of his supposed headache.

Eddie set his fork down on the table, not wanting to hear any more.

“Can I just go lay down? I’m really fine,” he added, a note of pleading slipping into his voice.

She stared at him for another moment, eyes narrow, before saying, “Fine. But I think you should stay home tomorrow, at least. Headaches can be symptoms of—“

“Okay,” Eddie said curtly. He shoved his chair away from the table as he cut her off, grabbing his glass of water from the table to take with him. “I’ll be in my room,” he said awkwardly, and then he turned and left. He could tell his mother was watching him go, so he tried not to rush too much until he turned into the hallway and knew he was out of sight. Eddie hurried up the stairs and into his room, careful not to spill any of the water in his glass

He set it down on his dresser before sitting down on his bed. It was better to be away from his mother, but he only felt more nervous now that he was alone with his thoughts.

The sun was streaming through the window, all warmth and gold in the evening air. It seemed a marvel to Eddie that the sun was still shining like it was just a normal day, that his private revelation hadn’t shaken the rest of the world the way it had shaken him. He stared blankly at the window for a moment, a moment of calm before the storm of having to actually think about this.

And then it was over, and everything was crushingly real again.

So. Richie.

Eddie sighed, burying his head in his hands. This was - this was a mess. He wasn’t supposed to feel like this, he knew that, but since he’d put the pieces together less than an hour before it had only become more obvious that he did feel...like that. It was almost painful, the realization and understanding all snapping into place like the world’s heaviest jigsaw puzzle in his chest.

“I’m so stupid,” Eddie breathed, heels of his palms pressed against his closed eyes.

It was all so painfully obvious in retrospect; he’d thought he was perceptive, picking up on the way Ben and Bill looked at Beverly and smiled at her and took any chance to hang out with her. So obvious, right? But there he’d been, doing it all himself—

Eddie groaned, scrubbing at his face with his hands. It was all so stupid, so fucking stupid, and so weird. The way he was always happy to see Richie, the stupid heat around him, the way he made Eddie want to be braver (if only to avoid the teasing that deep down, Eddie knew he enjoyed anyways). It was all so textbook crush, so stupidly clear now that he was looking at it from a new perspective. It should’ve been clear the whole time. It would’ve been, Eddie thought, if Richie was a girl, or if Eddie had ever had a crush before, or maybe both.

He sighed again, letting his hands fall into his lap. He felt like his whole body was full of bees or the static that came off the television downstairs. It wasn’t pleasant.

Eddie scooched back on his bed so his back was against the wall and pulled his knees to his chest. It was a desperate effort to make make himself comfortable as something distinctly uncomfortable bore down on him, and he knew it. Still, he wrapped his arms around his knees and took a single, slow breath.

Alright.

So he had....a crush on Richie. Forcing the words out, even in his own thoughts, was difficult. It felt wrong, like two magnets being forced together in a way that surely they were never intended to.

He suddenly thought of church for the first time in years. He and his mother had used to go, until Eddie was eleven and a flu swept through the congregation and they simply never went back. Eddie didn’t mind; he’d always found it hard to focus on what was being said, and it rarely ever meant anything to him. He remembered, vaguely, some sermon about laying with man as one does with woman, something about sickness and hellfire and wrongness. He’d asked his mother about it, and she had curtly told him that he would understand when he was older, that it was a sin and that was all he’d had to know.

“But what did that mean?” He’d asked, thinking about laying around at Bill’s house with his friends. Was that what it meant? “How am I s’posed to know when it’s bad?”

She’d looked at him sharply then, and offered no explanation other than, “You would know. You would feel it, like you’re sick, and you would know.”

Eddie had nodded, but he hadn’t understood. If she wouldn’t tell him what he wasn’t supposed to do, how was he supposed to know if he was sinning? It had made him nervous to go to church. Near the end, for the last few years, he’d felt nervous even stepping foot in their church. What other sins did he not know about that he could be committing, maybe even every day? He’d felt like he was being watched, judged, and found not worthy. He didn’t know the crime, and he didn’t dare try to ask or explain his fear, but it sat in his gut like a cold stone every time he entered the church.

Not worthy. Sinner.

Eddie wondered if this was what it had been all along - he knew by now what that passage meant, even if his mother had never told him. He hadn’t really thought about it in years, but it was clear enough to him now. Had it been this way for years, and he’d been too stupid to actually know it?

The question was worth thinking about, but Eddie didn’t want to think about church and sins anymore, so he pushed that part away and focused instead on the question of time. Just because he’d only just put it together...Eddie knew that it didn’t mean he’d only just started to feel this way.

He tried to think about when things changed for him - when did the stupid blushing start? When did he start trying to hang out with Richie more? When was the first moment that the dumb magnets of “Richie” and “crush” in his head, against all laws of what was natural and right, became stuck together?

He found that he couldn’t pinpoint a time. It was almost nauseating, in retrospect, tracing this vein of thought as far back as it could go. He remembered being seven, the first year that he’d met Richie, and from the start they’d just clicked. It was a thousand bike rides home together, stupid jokes, annoying arguments that Eddie had a feeling Richie enjoyed as much as he did, helping hands up on the playground, late night, bright eyed conversations about the future. It was always the same, just RichieandEddie, and Eddie felt sick thinning about it.

Maybe it happened slowly, he thought. A little bit at a time, the way your hair grows but you never notice that its longer until its curling around your ears and you need to get it cut.

Or maybe - and Eddie thought, somehow, that this was worse - he’d always been this way, and he just never knew it because he didn’t know any other way to be. Maybe he’d seen Richie for the first time in second grade and from that moment on he’d been like that, and he didn’t even know it. Eddie’s stomach sunk through the floor, and he gripped his legs tighter.

God, what if he’d never even known himself at all?

He let out a shaky breath. Eddie knew that it didn’t really matter when he started feeling like this; a day ago or a year ago, it was all the same.

Except, maybe, if it was just a day ago, he could make it go away.

He turned his head to the side and rested his chin again his knee. It seemed to him that would be the best thing to do, if he could. It wasn’t supposed to be this way, and he knew it wouldn’t be anything but bad for him. He’d seen the graffiti in Bassey Park, and now the cold sweat that had washed over him when he’d read the brightly colored vitriol made more sense. He knew that boys who liked other boys were not only sinners in the eyes of a god that may or may not be watching, but were criminals and scum in the eyes of average people who very certainly were.

Hell, he thought. When had Bowers and his friends started throwing slurs around about Eddie? When had the first rumors started going around, the first graffiti been written, the first scathing, lip curling look been sent his way in the hallways? And he hadn’t even known a thing.

Eddie almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. Fuck them for all of it, he thought bitterly, but most of all, fuck them for being right.

But back to the point at hand: getting rid of how he felt. Eddie wanted to believe it could work, if he tried hard enough. Maybe he could pick someone else to have a crush on, and he could force his heart to act right. Maybe he could follow in Ben and Bill’s footsteps and fall for Bev - sweet, funny Beverly. He should like her, he thought. Why wouldn’t he?

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to imagine that it was Beverly he felt this way about. He tried to imagine what it would be like to hold her hand, or to kiss her, but his mind was blank. It was like the magnets again, but these ones could not be forced together. Eddie tried again, determined, desperate. He had to be able to do this, to redirect his feelings, and it had to be Bev. There was no one else he loved enough; if he couldn’t like her the way he liked Richie, he realized with a sinking pit in his stomach, he wouldn’t be able to like any of the girls in Derry that way.

After a minute of squeezing his eyes shut, trying so hard to make the wires cross in his mind that he forgot to breathe, Eddie forced his eyes back open. It was pointless. It wasn’t working, and Eddie felt for a moment like be might throw up. He didn’t want it to be that way, he wanted to love Bev that way, it would be better, he didn’t want to be wrong, not worthy—

Eddie shot out of bed, stumbling towards his dresser. He needed his inhaler, he was suffocating, he was sick - and then he found it and ripped the cap off and shot a bitter puff of medicine down his throat. He waited one moment, two, three, and then pushed the inhaler again. He imagined his lungs opening up again, re-inflating like two pink, fleshy balloons in his chest.

After another few moments, he felt better, less like he was about to drown right there on solid ground. He still felt shaky, almost dizzy, and slightly nauseous, but he didn’t think he was going to pass out. He put the inhaler down and put his hands on the edge of his dresser, steadying himself.

Between the long string of memories that Eddie couldn’t find a tipping point into this in and the way that he couldn’t force his brain to think about Bev the same way he can think about Richie, he felt a sinking sense of certainty that he wouldn’t be able to will this away.

Maybe, he thought desperately, it was just that he didn’t like Bev that way. She was more like a sister to him, of course he wouldn’t be able to think about her romantically!

But then, for the briefest of moments, Eddie thought about Richie. There was none of the eyes squeezed shut focus of before; ironically, it happened totally naturally. He imagined holding Richie’s hand - not that they hadn’t sort of held hands before, dragging each other along or as one of Richie’s stupid bits. But he imagined actually holding his hand, threading their fingers together just because he wanted to, letting his shoulder brush against Richie’s just because he could —

“Fuck.” Eddie whispered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.“

This was not a path Eddie wanted to go down. That was far enough to know that he was really, actually...what, gay?

The word almost sent Eddie grappling for his inhaler again. It felt like a punch to the gut, left a bitter taste in his mouth. It sounded in his mind like Henry Bowers, all sneers and disgust.

Eddie sank down to the ground, turning around so his back was against his dresser. He tried to breathe, but he felt like there was a weight on his chest that he couldn’t move. It was horrible. All he knew about being...that was the graffiti under the kissing bridge and the words spat at him in the halls and the Sharpie in the bathroom stalls at school. It was an ugly, horrible thing to be, and Eddie knew it.

He suddenly remembered a story he’d seen on the television, or maybe it was in the paper, or maybe he’d just overheard it somewhere. He knew something else about that: people like that got sick. The AIDS crisis. No one really talked to Eddie about it, but he’d learned somewhere that it was mostly happening to that kind of people. There was some graffiti about it in the park, actually - something about the disease being a punishment sent from God for the sinners.

He’d asked his mother about it once, but she hadn’t said anything about that. She’d told him about her friend in New York City who caught the disease - “Through a hangnail, Eddiebear.” - and about needles in alleyways and about blood and dying from it and that was why he had to stay home, just to be safe. No other details, no explanation, and certainly nothing about whatever it was he’d heard. He hadn’t thought much about it until just then, sitting on the floor of his bedroom.

He felt sick. He was going to get sick, and he was going to die of the plague that came just for sinners like him. Eddie almost started to laugh, the way he sometimes did when he was hurt and didn’t know what else to do.

Because what else could he do? He was some sort of wrong, a sinner or a criminal or all the things that people at school said. He was the sort of person to get sick and die, to go to hell, to have threats written about them on the old wood inside the little building around the kissing bridge.

Eddie took a shuddering breath, gripping the fabric of his shorts in white knuckled fists. That was what he knew about - about being gay. He didn’t know anything good, and he certainly didn’t know anyone who was actually gay in shithole Derry.

It was just him, alone in his bedroom with a secret and a pit in his stomach.

Although, it occurred to Eddie after a moment, that might not be strictly true. Of course, it was all very quiet - it wasn’t like he’d heard it from the source, but he’d heard it from just about everyone else. Including his own mother.

There were a pair of bachelors who lived on West Broadway, in the big white house there. Eddie sometimes liked to walk down that way just to admire the nice houses there, and that one was his favorite. It was owned by Phil and Tony Tracker; they also owned the Tracker Brothers’ Truck Depot where kids sometimes went to play baseball. Eddie was never allowed to go - his mother was sure he would get hurt, and his asthma would never allow him to run around the bases.

And then there was the other thing.

“Any two men who bother keeping a house so nice must be queers,” his mother had said once, and Eddie hadn’t asked her what she meant. He understood that it was a bad thing, that whatever it meant, that was another reason he wasn’t allowed to go play baseball there.

Still, he’d snuck down there often enough to watch the kids play. Stan got in on a game, every now and then, and Eddie liked to be there for it. Phil wasn’t there much, but Tony Tracker was a sort of summer fixture for Eddie. He was the pseudo referee for their games, half judge and half coach, always yelling out to the kids as they played.

He didn’t actually think that they were brothers, and neither did anyone else who talked about them. His mother, the kids at school - it was always the same speculation. Two grown men living together raised eyebrows in Derry, and people were both hush-hush about it and unwilling to mind their own business.

Eddie thought that he believed it - that they were together, maybe. His mother certainly thought so, or she wouldn’t have said it and been so doubly adamant about him staying away from them.

But Eddie had never thought there was anything wrong about them. They didn’t seem like bad people. He definitely didn’t think that either of them deserved to be punished by any sort of god, and even if other kids thought they were “queers” too, they thought that the Trackers were nice enough to overlook it (or their baseball diamond was). They were just a part of the neighborhood: their nice house, their baseball diamond, their Truck Depot. Eddie would even go so far as to say they were a good part of Derry.

And if they were...

If they were gay, then Eddie had one thing to cling to. Because they were good people, and they were kind enough, and they had a house and a business and a life, and maybe that meant that there was more to that than just hate and disease and hellfire. It didn’t make it totally better, but if he couldn’t make it go away (and he wasn’t done trying), at least there was that.

* * *

True to her word, Eddie’s mother insisted that he stay home for a few days after his headache. She made up reasons even after he insisted that he was fine - more allergies, a storm she heard was coming, something she needed his help for at home, anything to keep him in the house. Eddie didn’t fight it, as much as he wanted to. He’d learned that over the past month; he had to be smart about what he did, organizing reasons to leave the house and playing at being the perfect, house arrest child she wanted in order to be able to get out every now and then. He thought it might get easier when school started up again, but he wasn’t sure. He hoped so.

In any case, it was a torturously slow moving series of days stuck at home with his mother. He watched TV, did chores, cleaned his already tidy room, reread his comics for the umpteenth time, listened to his mixtapes, stared at the ceiling, anything at all to pass the time.

And of course, throughout nearly all of those things, he thought about Richie.

Not in a creepy way, though. It was just impossible not to - even as Eddie tried still to redirect his attention and his feelings, it was impossible. He had to stop listening to the mixtapes Richie had given him and stick with the ones he’d gotten from other friends; he’d nearly burst into flames that first night when he’d been laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling with his headphones on and Head Over Heels came on. It was painful, and he was already thinking about Richie enough as it was. He’d stashed the mixtape back in the drawer and refused to get it out again.

By the fourth day of his quasi-house arrest, Eddie was out of things to do. He was bored of everything, and the whole mess with Richie was making him even more stir crazy than usual. Eddie had woken up tired from a restless sleep and dragged himself into the shower, trying to feel some semblance of awake after three nights of uneasy rest.

He got dressed quickly and headed downstairs; it was a little after ten in the morning, and he knew his mother was awake. She was in the kitchen when he got downstairs, pouring herself a glass of water.

“Good morning, Eddie,” she said, barely glancing up.

“Morning. Can I hang out with my friends today?” He wasted no time getting to the point - he had no more patience left after three days.

His mother was silent, the only sound the water pouring into her glass. When it was full, she set down the pitcher and looked at Eddie with mild disapproval.

“When? What are they trying to do this time?”

“Bill called yesterday,” Eddie said - true. “He just thought we might hang out in the park or maybe go to his house or something.” Mostly true. They would probably go the the clubhouse, but his mother didn’t need to know about that. “All of us are meeting up at noon.” Lie. Bill had said that everyone was busy until the afternoon, so they were planning on meeting up at the clubhouse around two or so, but Eddie was desperately ready to get out of his house. He was fairly sure his mother would think nothing of the time of day, but he still felt a twinge of nervousness as she looked at him.

“Are you sure you’re feeling better?”

Eddie closed his eyes to keep from rolling them.

“I’m fine, Mom,” he said. “It was just a headache.”

“Headaches can be serious symptoms,” she countered, but then sighed and said, “Be home by dinner.”

“I will,” Eddie replied, and he slipped back the way he’d come. He had almost two hours to kill before he could leave for the clubhouse, but it felt like a lifetime. He tried to draw a bit - he didn’t have Bill’s knack for it, but he liked to doodle stuff sometimes. Mostly just his friends, or superheroes, or his friends as superheroes. He spent a while trying and failing to sketch Bev as Wonder Woman, one of her favorite characters.

It was hard to focus, and he was frustrated with trying to get the drawing to look the way he wanted it to, so he eventually gave up and decided just to listen to some music. He picked out one of the mixtapes Bev gave him - it had a lot of angry, messy girl punk on it, and Eddie found he actually liked a lot of it, especially when he was feeling jittery. He ended up doodling aimlessly at his desk as he listened, filling a page with stars and lightning bolts and stupid little skulls.

By the time the mix was over, it was close enough to noon that Eddie could probably leave without his mother saying anything about it; it was about quarter to.

Eddie slid his sketchbook back in the drawer, pushing his chair away from his desk. He fought the urge to look in his mirror before he left his room, but he could feel his face burning with the newfound understanding of where the urge to look put together had come from when seeing Richie again. Stupid.

He bounded down the stairs and then paused, slowing his pace as he walked into the living room. His mother was sitting in front of the television, and as he passed in front of her he said, “Bye, Mom.”

“Mhm,” she said, and Eddie was glad to get to the door and start putting his shoes on.

“Don’t be home late,” his mother added as he was tying his shoes.

“Okay,” he replied, yanking the knot tight. Like he’d planned on coming home late - he was lucky this was going as smoothly as it was right now, and he didn’t intent to screw himself out of future plans by coming home after curfew.

Eddie straightened up and opened the door, slipping through it without an additional goodbye.

It was starting to get hot out, the warmth of the summer hitting Eddie as soon as he stepped outside. It was perfect, the sky bright and blue and alive with a light breeze. Eddie dragged his bike out from the side of his house towards the street, and then he was off towards the Barrens.

He realized, as he pedaled down the road, that he’d gotten better about starting. The fear of falling, of not being able to get his balance fast enough, of asphalt and skinned knees, had largely disappeared. He wondered when it happened, and why. What had changed? When had Eddie learned to just go, to stop being afraid when he knew he could handle it?

He didn’t know, but he couldn’t help but think about finally putting his foot down with his mother. He was still afraid, still cautious, but it felt sort of the same way. Like he finally had some ground to stand on, because he’d demanded it.

The fear of falling was still sort of there, though, in more ways than one. Not just on his bike, not just at home with his mother; there was Richie, too. He supposed he’d already done the falling in that case though, or maybe he was still in free fall. Eddie didn’t want to think about what would happen if he hit the ground.

Shoving the idea away as much as he could, Eddie instead focused on the way that the warm summer breeze kissed his face as he turned the corner towards the Barrens. It always seemed miraculous to go outside after being in his stuffy house for several days, and this was no different. Everything was fresher and brighter, and it always brought a delicious feeling of freedom. It felt like the day was endless, like anything could happen. It was fantastic.

Eddie rolled to a stop, squeezing his brakes in front of the trees of the Barrens. His watch told him it was ten past noon; he’d taken the ride slower than he’d thought, relishing in the day. Not that it mattered - he wasn’t expecting his friends for another two hours anyways.

After dropping his bike of in its usual spot, Eddie turned towards the tress and began the short walk through them to the clubhouse. As he walked, he tried to keep his mind focused - on the trees, on the birds, on the patterns the sunlight made through the leaves on the ground. Anything was better than letting it wander inevitably back to Richie, but it seemed to be a useless effort. He remembered a story he’d heard in school when they were learning about ancient Greece, about a man who had to push a boulder up mountain. Every time he got most of the way up, it rolled back down and he had to start over, forever and ever trying to complete an impossible task.

That was how Eddie felt, walking through the Barrens and trying fruitlessly to stop thinking about that whole thing. It was frustrating; he hadn’t asked for this, and he couldn’t escape it. He tried, much like he was at that moment, but it was more often than not useless.

Eddie kicked a rock in front of him angrily. It didn’t roll back, and Eddie rolled his eyes at the thought. It might as well have.

He got to the clubhouse a few moments later, and he resolved to find something to distract himself while he was in there - and if he couldn’t, he would try to force himself through his feelings and tire that train of thought out while he had the clubhouse to himself. The latter option seemed more likely to him as he pulled open the clubhouse entrance and started making his way down the ladder. Maybe if he slammed his head into one of the support beams he could knock the thoughts out, Eddie pondered.

“Yeah,” Eddie mumbled to himself. “That’s a great idea, brain damage sounds terrific, maybe it would be better than—“

“Hey.”

Eddie jolted, slipping on the step of the ladder he was on. Luckily, it was the last step, and he half-fell, half stepped down onto the ground of the clubhouse.

“Holy shit, Bev,” Eddie breathed. “I didn’t - I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here.”

“Me either,” Bev said from where she sat on a crate. She took one more puff from the cigarette she was holding, then dropped it and crushed it under her shoe. Eddie knew that was for his benefit.

“But you know, I practically live here when I can,” she added, and Eddie could hear the strain under the joke.

“Yeah,” was all he said back, but he gave her a small, sympathetic smile. He knew how that felt. After all, wasn’t he also there two hours early just to get out of his house?

“Anyways,” Bev said, cocking her head at him, “why are you gonna give yourself brain damage?”

Eddie blinked at her, a heat rising in his face.

“Ah, shit,” he said, laughing awkwardly. “Didn’t think anyone was gonna hear that.”

“C’mon, tell me,” Bev said, and then jerked her head to indicate Eddie should sit down on the swing near her. Eddie did, settling down onto the wooden plank with a sigh.

“It’s nothing,” he mumbled, not looking at her.

There was a beat of silence, and then Bev said, “Is it your mom?”

Eddie let out a breath, gently swaying forward and backward with his feet on the ground. He could tell he was still blushing, but he felt like he had to look at Bev once she asked.

“No. I mean, when is it not?” he added quickly, voice bitter. “But like, not really.”

“Mmm,” Bev hummed, watched him. “Then what’s up? Do I have to be ready to keep you from slamming your head into the wall?”

Eddie could tell she was sort of joking, and he knew that if he put his foot down and said he didn’t want to talk about it, she wouldn’t push. But the thing was, he almost did want to talk about it. He felt a little like he was going to explode from thinking about it nonstop on his own for days, like maybe if he didn’t get it out it would just explode out of him like vomit when he couldn’t control it. Maybe it would be better to say something when he could still reign it in. And after all, it was only Bev. She would understand, right? Eddie felt sick at the prospect, because really, he didn’t know that she would. Not that he didn’t trust her, but this - this was something different, a totally different level of weird and awkward and not right.

Better to be swallowed up from the inside by the weight of what he knew on his own, or to risk losing the only people who really loved him? Because what if this was the thing that made them realize that he was a freak for real, and not just a loser? What if Bev laughed at him, or yelled at him, or told everyone else and then they all just never spoke to him again? What if—

“Uh, Eddie? Seriously, do I need to be concerned?” Bev’s voice broke through his muddied thoughts, dragging him back to reality.

Eddie took a shaky, deep breath, held it, and then let it out.

“I don’t know,” he said, cautiously, shaking his head.

Bev waited, watching him with concerned eye. Eddie felt like he might throw up, but it suddenly seemed like he had to get it out.

“It’s just like - do you ever think about stuff? Like, stuff you don’t want to, and you can’t stop, and it’s just like hell?” Eddie didn’t know how to lead into what he had to say, but it seemed like maybe going from general to the uncomfortable would be the best way to do it.

Bev was nodding at him thoughtfully. “Yeah,” she said simply, “but I don’t think a concussion will help, Eddie.”

Eddie sighed, looking up at the wooden planks that covered the clubhouse. She was right, but there was still a part of Eddie that found the idea appealing.

“I know. But it just - seems like it might be better.” The words sounded small, almost childish. Eddie knew it was a stupid thing to say, but it was the truth. It would be an easier pain to bear than what he was actually feeling.

“Eddie...” Bev trailed off. She was staring at him with furrowed brows and a small frown, and Eddie could feel the worry radiating off of her. As she opened her mouth to say something else, Eddie cut her off.

“What if - what if Bowers was like, right?” Eddie’s voice was barely audible in the otherwise silent clubhouse. He didn’t know where he was going with that question, didn’t know how to do this. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and his leg had begun to bounce anxiously as he asked the question.

Bev seemed even more confused.

“Bowers? Did he do something?”

“No!” Eddie practically yelled, frustrated and nervous. Bev seemed taken aback at the outburst. “I - I mean, yes. Sorry. But I - no, that’s not what I meant. It’s, it’s - what if he’s been right. About me. Y’know?” Eddie could hear the desperation seeping into his voice. He couldn’t say it, couldn’t just come right out and say it; he was praying for Bev to understand what he meant without making him say it, please God don’t make me say it—

Bev blinked at him. “I...don’t think I get it,” she said slowly, like she was worried he would freak out if she said anything too harsh or too fast. “You know he’s full of shit, Eddie, don’t let him get to you. Whatever he did, it’s—“

“No!” This time Eddie did yell. “It’s not about him, it’s about me!“ Eddie grabbed at the front of his t-shirt as he said it, bunching up the fabric over his heart. “It’s not - it’s me, and I’m trying not to - not to...” Eddie stopped abruptly, swallowing hard. He could feel a pressure behind his eyes that he recognized as imminent tears, but he couldn’t stop at this point.

“It’s - I don’t like you,” Eddie blurted, and he watched a flash of hurt pass over Bev’s face. “Fuck, no, that’s not what I - I didn’t mean that. It’s - I don’t like you. I can’t. Like, you’re my friend, but I can’t - I don’t—“ Eddie cut himself off, hitting his knees with his palms in frustration. Bev was clearly not following what he meant, and he couldn’t blame her - this wasn’t coming out at all like he’d hoped. Desperately, he tried a different train of thought.

“It’s the fucking graffiti under the bridge,” he said, the words shooting out of him like projectiles. Bev was watching him with wide eyes. Concern and confusion filled her gaze as Eddie became increasingly desperate.

“The shit in Bassey Park,” he said, breathing heavily. “It’s—“ He shoved one hand in his hair, grabbing at in frantic frustration. “Fuck.“ His voice was wild and loud, and Eddie was trying not to cry out of sheer desperation. He didn’t want to say it, didn’t know if he could. His breath was coming in shallow puffs, and Bev looked like she was about get up and try to comfort him when he barrelled ahead again.

”It’s - I mean the fucking - the like, the fucking shit in the bathroom too, you remember? That shit that you told me about?” Eddie watched Bev freeze as she tried to follow what he was saying. “It’s fucking that. That’s what I mean, it’s right and - and - do you get it? Do you get it?”

Eddie watched, suddenly, as something clicked in Bev’s mind. A wash of understanding suddenly mingled with her concern, and Eddie felt sick. A single tearless sob shook his shoulders as he waited for her to say something. Anything.

“Eddie...” Bev seemed like she didn’t know what to say. Eddie stared at her desperately, tears welling up in his eyes. Jesus, what was he doing?

“Do you get it?” He demanded again, but much quieter. They locked eyes, and Eddie watched Bev take a shaky breath.

“I...I don’t know. I think so,” she said, slowly. “Do you mean - um...”

“Yeah,” Eddie said weakly, more a breath than a word. He wrapped his arms around himself, digging his fingernails into the fleshy part of his upper arm. “Yeah.”

There was silence, and Eddie was bracing for impact. He truly thought he might throw up.

All Bev said next was, “Oh.”

Eddie started laughing, because God, what else was he supposed to do? It was a sorry excuse for laughter, more sobs than anything else, but his shoulders were shaking and his grimace could’ve been a smile. He folded in on himself, squeezing his arms tighter and dipping his chin to his chest, wishing he could crawl out of his skin and become someone else.

Suddenly, he saw Bev’s boots enter his view of the ground.

“Can I...?” Eddie looked up at her, her arms slightly outstretched towards him. Eddie nodded blurrily, and then Bev was leaning and and wrapping her arms around him.

Eddie leaned into her, allowing himself to be pulled in. His face was pressed against he shoulder, and he slowly dragged his arms out from around himself and put them loosely around her. She was rubbing his back gently as his shoulders shook, steady and slow.

“It’s okay,” she said, quietly. “It’s okay. Just breathe. In and out, you’re okay.”

She kept repeating it like a mantra until it started to lose meaning. It was soothing, and Eddie’s shoulders eventually stopped shaking. He tried to slow his breathing down, focusing and breathing in and out deeper than the shallow, desperate breaths he’d been taking in.

When he had finally gotten his breathing mostly back to normal a few moments later, Bev pulled back and stood in front of him.

“Better?”

Eddie nodded.

“Bev, I...” Eddie trailed off, embarrassed and nervous and suddenly very tired. “I’m sorry,” he said finally, and he meant it, for everything. For crying on her shirt, for yelling, for being...what he was.

“Eddie, no. No. You’re okay, do you hear me?” Bev’s voice was stern but caring. “Look at me. I mean it, okay? You are okay.”

Eddie just blinked up at her, the pressure behind his eyes coming back.

“It doesn’t have to be like...like what Bowers says. He’s not right,” Bev said, sounding unsure of her own words. “Like, you’re not...it’s not like it’s, y’know, violent and bad and awful. You’re still just you, y’know?” She was looking at Eddie with so much love that he thought he would start to cry again. It was exactly what he needed to hear.

“I...” Eddie blinked, trying to dispel the new tears that had formed. “Thanks, Bev.”

“Course,” she said, shoving his shoulder lightly. “Losers stick together, right?”

Eddie could tell that she was trying to lighten the mood, and he let out a watery laugh. He couldn’t believe that she was really there cracking jokes, smiling at him, after what he said. She knew, and she was still there.

“Yeah. We do.”

Bev stuck her hands in her pockets, biting her lip again.

“So like, you don’t have to tell me, but...what happened? Like,” she paused, gesturing at nothing. “Y’know...?”

Eddie sat still, biting the inside of his cheek. Did he want to tell her everything? He knew the answer was yes - God yes, someone else needs to know - but...

“You don’t have to,” Bev added quickly. “It just...seems like a lot to have to deal with on your own. If it would help, y’know, I’ll listen.”

Eddie closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He wanted to do this. He needed to. And if Bev was offering...if she was still there and still caring for him after what he’d already told her...

“You can’t tell anyone,” he said finally. “Like. Not any of this. Please,” he said, voice breaking on the last word.

“Of course,” Bev said, voice all sincerity. “I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die,” she added, making a small X on her chest with her pointer finger.

Eddie grinned a little at the childish gesture, but he knew she meant it.

“So...there’s. Um. Sort of a...boy,” he said awkwardly, heat rising in his face. Talking about this was weird, but was also freeing. Bev’s face lit up encouragingly, and Eddie was extremely grateful for her in that moment.

“Like...he made you sort of realize?” she asked, tone prompting him to continue.

“Yeah,” Eddie said, giving an awkward grin.

“When?” Bev asked, stretching out the word. And then, with a little gasp, she added, “Do I know him?”

Eddie felt the heat in his face growing. He was pretty sure that Bev was just being supportive; she had never struck him as the hugely romantic type, so he was pretty sure this conversation was as much for his own benefit if he wanted to get things off his chest as for her own curiosity. He knew she would stop and leave it alone if he told her to, but...

“Um,” Eddie said, looking down at his hands. “It was only like. Uh. Last week?” Eddie pointedly avoided the second question until Bev made a small noise, prompting him to continue. “And. Um, yeah,” he mumbled, quietly.

“Eddie!” Bev said, excitedly. “That’s so - only last week? I thought you were like, on major house arrest,” she said, and Eddie could practically hear the gears turning in her head. “Except for, y’know...the day that R—oh my god.” She stopped abruptly, and Eddie’s heart was pounding loudly in his chest. He was pretty sure that 90 percent of the blood in his body was now in his face as he stared resolutely at the ground.

“Hang on,” she said, and Eddie could hear her grin without even looking. “Eddie Kaspbrak...no way.”

Eddie looked up then, and that was enough. As soon as Bev saw his face - which must’ve been tomato red - she started to laugh. It wasn’t laughing at him, though, Eddie could tell.

He couldn’t help it; he started to laugh too.

“It’s - Richie?” Bev asked, her voice practically a whisper. Eddie felt a ridiculous surge of embarrassment, covering his warm face with his hands.

“Yes,” he mumbled, muffled from behind his palms.

“That’s—“ Bev giggled again, and Eddie sort of wanted to melt into the ground, but not because she wasn’t being supportive or he was scared of her response. He thought that maybe this was a normal part of telling people about...about a crush.

“I know,” Eddie groan, putting his hands back on the ropes of the swing. “Trust me, I know. I’ve like, felt like I was gonna explode from thinking about it while I’ve been stuck at home,” he added.

“That’s so...perfect,” Bev said, still grinning.

“What do you mean?” Eddie asked, brows furrowed. “Doesn’t feel very perfect from where I’m sitting. Feels like I’ve got a crush on a stupid, ‘your mom’ joke making idiot.”  
It was so much easier to say these things to Bev than it was to think them to himself. Having a friend there with him made the whole thing seem almost okay; if not okay, at least much less serious, much more manageable.

“Yeah, but he’s our ‘your mom’ joke making idiot,” Bev teased. “There’s worse guys out there,” she said plainly, and Eddie was struck by how much weight had lifted off of his shoulders since he’d not only told someone, but was laughing about it with someone. Eddie knew she was right, too.

“I guess,” he said. “I hate him,” Eddie added ruefully, scuffing his sneaker against the dirt floor.

“You don’t,” Bev replied cheerfully.

“...I don’t,” Eddie ceded, and then they both started laughing again.

Eddie was breathless by the time their laughter was winding down, his eyes watering from laughing so hard. Bev was the same, one hand on her stomach as she let out a last few giggles. She gave a contented sigh, then fixed Eddie with a curious look.

“So...what now?”

“What do you mean?” Eddie asked swaying back and forth on the swing again.

“Y’know...are you gonna do something about it?”

Eddie laughed again, but this was a colder, harsher laugh. “Do something? Um, hell no,” he said, rolling his eyes. “First of all, this is Derry. Can you imagine if this was public knowledge? And second of all, this is - this is Richie. He’s never taken anything seriously in his life, he’d never let me live this down. It would be his new favorite bit for the rest of my life,” Eddie said, shaking his head.

“Hmm,” Bev hummed, thinking. “I mean, it’s up to you. You know I won’t say anything about any of this,” she added.

“Yeah, I know,” Eddie said tiredly.

Bev tapped her fingers on her knee, deciding whether or not to say what she was thinking.

“Just - let yourself be happy, okay?” She was looking at Eddie so earnestly that it was almost piercing. “You don’t have to do anything, but it’s - it’s okay to feel stuff,” she said. “Some day when we’re out of this shithole town, you’ll be able to do whatever you want, Eddie. But don’t like, squish your own heart back down, y’know? You’re allowed to feel,” she finished, sounding unsure if what she said made sense.

It did. Eddie thought of trying, desperately, to redirect his feelings, or even just to ignore them. It was exhausting and painful and hard, and maybe Bev was right. He couldn‘t do anything now - not with his mom, not in Derry. But maybe someday, he could be okay. There were places that were...better for people like him. But he couldn’t spend the next few years trying to choke out his heart if he ever wanted to have a chance to be happy once he got to wherever that place might be.

He didn’t know how to put that all into words, so all he said was “Thanks, Bev.”

She just grinned back at him, and Eddie knew that she understood the weight behind the words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bev and eddie are such good friends i love them!!!! also this cuts off sort of abruptly because originally the chapter was gonna be longer, but then it ended up TOO long. good news is the next chapter is almost totally written already though, so expect that in the next few days! 
> 
> hope you liked it, leave a comment if you wanna!!!! and come find me on tumblr @choking-onholywater :')
> 
> see you guys soon with some more!


	9. take the plunge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is like 10.5K, enjoy!!

After their heavy conversation, Bev and Eddie lapsed into a comfortable silence. Eddie felt lighter than he had in days, like an enormous weight had shifted off of his shoulders just by speaking about. It was still an uncomfortable reality, and Eddie was sure he would be mortified by what he’d said when he looked back on it later, but he also knew that he was better off for having done it. And he believed Bev when she said she would keep his secret, and that he was okay. 

He would be okay. 

After a few minutes, Eddie got up off the swing to rifle through the crate of comics on the other side of the clubhouse; they’d all contributed some to the stash, occasionally adding new ones once they’d bought them and read them. Eddie plucked out an X-Men comic that he’d read only maybe once before, then grabbed two others at random and brought them back over to the swing. He dropped the other two on the ground and settled onto the wood seat, flipping open the X-Men issue. 

When he was a few pages into the book, Bev got up from where she was sitting. 

“Is it cool if I turn on the radio?” she asked from the other side of the clubhouse. 

Eddie hummed in consent, not looking up from his comic. He heard that static erupt through the little room before Bev started flipping through channels, turning down the volume. Eventually, she found a local station that played rock and pop hits - Barry Manilow was on - and Bev adjusted the radio to get it as clear as possible. It was quiet, just background noise. 

Bev came back with a book from the shelf, another collection that had been a group project. 

She and Eddie sat and read in relative silence, the only noises the turning of pages and the gentle noise of the radio drifting through the space. It was peaceful, and Eddie read one comic, two, and was onto the third when—

“Hello?”

Eddie jolted back to reality; Bev did the same, each of their head snapping towards the feet descending the ladder. Bev recovered first, tossing out a “Hey!” in reply. 

A moment later, Stan was stepping down onto the floor. He looked at them both, and Eddie was struck again by how avian his gaze could be at times. After moment, he shrugged, grabbed his own book off the shelf, and took a seat. 

Eddie smiled into his comic book; Stan was certainly not the type to break the very relaxed atmosphere they had going on. In fact, he was probably pleasantly surprised by the change of pace compared to the usual chaotic energy of the clubhouse. There was something extremely endearing, Eddie thought, about the fact that practically no words had been exchanged between them. Stan had simply seen them, looked at what they were doing, and joined them.

The three of them continued that way, reading in comfortable silence, for another long while. A glance at his watch told Eddie that it was nearing two, so he wasn’t surprised when he heard voices and laughter followed closely by a set of sneakers appearing on the ladder. 

“And then we have to make sure it’s all good quality,” Mike said, looking up at whoever was above the entrance. “Oh - hey,” he said, glancing around at his friends. 

“Hey,” Bev smiled back. 

Ben came down then, and after an initial greeting, it was as though there was some sort of unofficial rule of serenity in the clubhouse. They too settled down in a corner quietly - not to read, but to play checkers. The quiet resumed, save for the quiet song on the radio, the click of the checkers against the board, and the flipping of pages. 

It was peaceful. Eddie couldn’t remember when the last time was that he’d been with his friends that had been this quiet, but he didn’t mind it. Not at all. In fact, he felt like maybe they should do this more often: just exist together in comfortable silence, basking in the glow of being surrounded by friends you love. If he had to, he would’ve been willing to bet that his friends felt the same way. After all, they’d all fallen into the silence willingly, and they all seemed happily engrossed in their own activities. 

Eddie looked back to the comic book he was reading with a smile on his face, feeling incredibly lucky and tranquil in the relative silence.

That lasted for all of ten minutes. 

“No fuckin’ way, Big Bill!” 

Whatever blanket of quiet had been hanging over the clubhouse suddenly and abruptly disappeared as Richie’s voice - loud enough to have been coming from inside the clubhouse rather than from above it - crashed through the silence. All five of the Losers already in the clubhouse snapped to look at the source of the noise. Moments later, they saw a pair of shoes appear on the ladder. 

“Saying it louder doesn’t muh-make you right, Richie,” Bill said, rolling his eyes as he dropped down onto the group. He looked around, waving at the already assembled group. “Hey, guys!”

Before they could say anything, Richie was making his way down the ladder. 

“I dunno, haven’t you ever watched the debates on TV? That’s politics, mate!” Richie exclaimed cheerily in a crappy undeterminable accent. He too dropped down to the ground, leaping off of the ladder with three rungs left untouched. 

“Geez, did somebody die?” Richie asked, surveying his quiet friends. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, looking around. 

Eddie felt suddenly mildly woozy. It was one thing to realize on his own time by himself about how he felt, to think about it. Even to tell Bev about how he felt, about what was going on. But actually seeing Richie? Eddie felt like his stomach had fallen through the swing and down into the dirt, and he could tell he was turning pink again. He prayed that Richie wouldn’t notice, hiding behind his comic book. Over the top of the pages, Eddie could see Bev shoot him a sympathetic smile. 

“Some people just prefer quiet, Richie,” Stan said, rolling his eyes. “Not everyone has to be the center of attention all the time.”

“Really?” Richie asked, flinging himself into the hammock. “That sounds like shit. What’s the point if it’s not the Richie Tozier Show all the time?” He stuck his arms out and did crappy jazz hands as he said it, eliciting a snort from Ben and a shake of the head from Stan. 

“You’re incorrigible,” he said, going back to his book as though he was actually going to read it anymore.

“Love you too, Stan the Man,” Richie said amicably, dropping his arms on either side of the hammock.

He looked over at Eddie then, raising an eyebrow and sitting up slightly in the hammock as though to say, “Are you gonna come over here or what?”. Eddie blinked, then looked resolutely away, still attempting to hold the comic book in front of his face. God, it was gonna be a long afternoon.

Eddie was grateful when Mike took Richie’s attention off of him.

“So,” he said, drawing out the O sound. “What are we gonna do? Now that someone broke up our nice peaceful hangout,” he added, grinning at Richie. Richie gave a mock little bow in response - as much as he could while laying down in the hammock. 

“We could go to the ice cream place?” Ben suggested.

Richie opened his mouth, ready to reply, but Bill cut him off. 

“Sore subject,” he said, jerking his head towards Richie. 

“You think black cherry is better than fudge ripple!” Richie yelled indignantly! “The - the uncultured taste you have is fucking astounding, Billiam—“

“Beep beep,” Bill replied, and Richie glowered at him in response. 

“What about the quarry?” Bev suggested. 

Eddie had been silently watching this exchange go down, trying to get his stupid heart to calm down and willing his face to go back to a normal hue. Convinced that he finally looked less like a human strawberry, Eddie put the comic book he’d been holding down with the other two. 

“I’m down for the quarry,” he said, shrugging. 

“Hell yeah!” Richie exclaimed. “That’s a capital idea, it is! Right-o!” 

“If you promise not to do the British guy,” Ben said, “then I’m down.”

“Anything for you, Benny,” Richie said with a lovelorn sigh. Ben just grinned in response. 

Richie sat up and swung his legs over the side of the hammock, stretching his arms. Eddie did not closely watch him do so.

“Alright, folks,” Richie said after a moment, “Let’s get a move on! We’re losing daylight!” And then he sprang out of the hammock, hurtling towards the ladder. It was a miracle he didn’t fall, Eddie thought, observing Richie’s still gangly limbs fling themselves towards the exit. He wondered if his friends were thinking the same thing as they watched Richie with various levels of amusement. 

A moment after he disappeared out of the clubhouse, they heard Richie yell, “Come on!”, and everyone else switched into motion. 

“Took ya long enough,” Richie said, giving an exasperated sigh as Eddie surfaced from the clubhouse, followed by the rest of their friends. He slung on arm around Eddie’s shoulders, propelling him back towards their bikes.

Eddie felt warm, his face pink. He didn’t let Richie lead him more than a few steps before he ducked out from under Richie’s arm, mumbling, “Knock it off, Rich.”

Richie looked concerned for a moment, but then he was back to a bright grin. Eddie thought maybe he’d just imagined the momentary lapse in the first place - and then Richie was off, running through the trees, laughing. 

“Catch up! C’mon!” 

Eddie shook his head. He could not believe this was really who he had a crush on.

He started to jog anyways. 

It didn’t take long for all of them to get to their bikes, and whatever quiet had been wrapped around them was totally gone as they headed towards the quarry. They were all chatter, all life, a big mess of laughter and yelling as they pedaled down the street. 

Eddie was grinning the whole time, and it didn’t take long to get over to the quarry. They dumped their bikes in the clearing when they got there. 

It had been a while since Eddie had been able to go to the quarry with his friends, he realized as he pulled his t-shirt over his head. He slipped off his sneakers and stuffed his socks into them. He decide to leave his shorts on - they were the sort of athletic material that would dry fast in the summer sun.

While he’d been pulling off the clothes he wanted to keep dry, his friends had been doing the same - Bev was also wearing shorts, which she had been wearing under her dresses for years; Mike had a pair of basketball type shorts on, too. The rest of his friends were just in their boxers, and Eddie almost laughed at the memory of all of them in their tighty whities so many years ago. A lot had changed since then, Eddie thought as he looked at his friends.

His eyes landed on Richie, and he blinked. Richie was wearing just his boxers, having crumpled his t-shirt up and throw it somewhere near their bikes. Eddie watched Richie take off his glasses, putting them carefully inside one of his sneakers. Eddie remembered telling Richie that was disgusting once, but Richie had argued it kept his glasses safe. It was sort of endearing that he still did it.

It was strange to compare that memory of Richie to what he was seeing now. In a lot of ways, they were the same - Richie’s fashion sense was still a disaster, his hair was still unruly, he was still a mess of gangly limbs and a pair of eyes that were huge behind his glasses. But he’d hit a growth spurt and at some point, he started to look a little less gangly awkward and a bit more...Eddie didn’t know the word. Maybe just tall, a little bit filled out to match his height. Not that Richie was muscly by any means - that wasn’t a word Eddie would ever use for him, but Richie just seemed to be growing into himself. His hair had gotten curlier too, and it was always stupidly, effortlessly perfect in a messy way that was both infuriating and, unfortunately, attractive.

Richie straightened up and caught Eddie’s eye, grinning. Eddie prayed that he wasn’t blushing, although he probably was; he’d just been staring at Richie, and had totally been caught. He hoped it wouldn’t strike Richie as odd. 

He felt a gentle shove on his arm, and he saw Bev next to him. She was grinning, and if Eddie hadn’t been blushing before, he was certain he was now. If Richie hadn’t noticed, Bev certainly had. 

“Shut up,” Eddie mumbled, gently shoving her back with his shoulder. 

She just smiled at him for another moment before running away, straight off the edge of the cliff. She let out a whoop as she went, and a few moments later they heard her splash on impact. 

Bill was next, rushing by Eddie and going straight over the edge as well. Eddie watched as Mike, too, ran straight off the edge with a joyous yell. 

Ben and Stan approached the edge a bit more cautiously, but they both jumped too, Ben first, then Stan. 

“C’mon, Eds,” Richie said, suddenly materializing next to him. “Let’s go!” 

Eddie walked towards the edge, feeling suddenly nervous. It was always like this when he hadn’t been to the quarry in a while - he forgot how not to be afraid of the distance to the water. It was always fine, not only fine but fun, once he did it. But it was the doing that was the problem.

“You’re doing that thing,” Richie said helpfully, standing next to Eddie with his arms crossed. 

“I am not!” Eddie said defensively. “I’m just...looking.” 

Richie rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. No, you’re totally doing what you always do right before you jump - you’re freaking out because you haven’t done it in a while, and you always get nervous again when you start looking over the edge.”

Eddie paused, standing completely still. Richie had said that all like it was obvious, like it was nothing, but it had been almost word for word what Eddie had been thinking. It was almost unsettling, and Eddie felt a mix of exhilaration and mortification at the fact that Richie knew him well enough to read him perfectly, and to act like it was nothing.

“Okay, maybe I am,” Eddie ceded.

“I know,” Richie said. “But c’mon, it’ll be fine! How many times have we done this?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie snapped. “I know that, Einstein.”

Richie paused, looking at him. 

“We’ll jump together. That way if we fuck up, we’ll both die!” He said cheerfully. “Not that I’d let anything bad happy to you, Eddie Spaghetti,” he added. Before Eddie could say anything, Richie leaned over the edge and yelled, “Eds and I are coming down! Get out of the way!”

Eddie could hear Bev’s voice float back up to them - “Hurry up, you two!” - and then Richie was looking at him expectantly. 

Eddie felt a little dizzy, and not just because of the impending jump. Richie’s gaze was steady on him, but it was becoming impatient. 

“Let’s go! You know I wouldn’t let ya die on my watch, Eds,” Richie said, grinning. “C’mon, don’t you trust me? I promise I’ll catch you,” he crooned. 

“No you won’t, asshole, we’re jumping at the same time!” Eddie snapped back, but he felt sort of fluttery at the promise. “And against my better judgement, I do trust you,” he added, and Richie looked pleasantly surprised.

“Then let’s go!” Richie grabbed Eddie’s wrist, dragging him a few steps backwards so they could get a running start. “We go on three, okay?” 

“Okay,” Eddie said, nervous for more than one reason. 

Richie let go of his wrist, grinning. He turned into the sun, hair glimmering, and said, “One...two...three!”

And then the two of them were off. Eddie felt like he wasn’t even choosing to run, it was just happening. They reached the edge of the cliff and jumped, and Eddie heard his own voice mixing with Richie’s as they yelled on the way down, and then—

Cool, sudden impact. It felt good on Eddie’s sun warmed skin, and his head emerged from the water moments later. 

“See! We made it!” Eddie turned around to see Richie paddling towards him, smiling. His hair was a mess, plastered all across his forehead. Eddie fought the urge to push it back, instead saying, “I thought you were gonna catch me.”

“I did!” Richie said indignantly. “Well, the water did, and I’m in the water, so y’know, basically I caught you,” he said, as though that made any logical sense. 

“Yeah, okay,” Eddie laughed, and Richie seemed happy with that response. 

They swam over to the shallower part of the quarry where their friends were swimming, where they could all touch the bottom, just barely. 

“Took you guys long enough,” Stan commented.

“Y’know what, Staniel?” Richie said, and then without waiting for Stan to reply, Richie sent a huge splash of water his way. Before long, they were all splashing each other, yelling stupidly and laughing at each other. Richie splashed Eddie mid-laugh, giving him a mouthful of water.

“Ew, Richie! Fuck you,” Eddie said, sticking out his tongue in disgust. 

“Hazard of the game, my friend,”  
Richie said with a grin, and Eddie scowled at him. 

A few minutes later, Eddie swam over next to Richie. “Hey, Rich?” 

“Yeah?” Richie asked, blinking. 

Eddie sprung up, putting his hands on Richie’s shoulder’s, and shoved him under the water. He was always surprised when it still worked, with the extra height Richie had on him, but it usually did. 

Eddie laughed when Richie came up sputtering, as though the very same thing hadn’t happened many times before. 

“It’s so on, Spaghetti,” Richie said, but Eddie was already fleeing, swimming away as quickly as he could. He was laughing, too - it was so nice to be outside, just being a normal, stupid kid with his friends, and the water was perfectly cool, and the sun was out and—

There was a hand on his ankle, and Eddie was suddenly being pulled backwards. The hand let go after a second, but the momentum kept Eddie drifting backwards, even as he tried to straighten up and turn forward again. 

Eddie would’ve drifted right into Richie if at the last second, Richie hadn’t shot out a hand to stop Eddie. His other hand found it’s way to the other side of Eddie’s waist, and Eddie felt his heart leap into his throat. They were close, not enough room between them for someone else to fill the space. Eddie’s heart was pounding, because this was weird, right? Richie had his hands on Eddie’s sides to keep him from swimming away, and this was weird. Right?

“Eds?” Richie said, sweetly. 

Eddie blinked, woozy, and said, “Mm?” 

Richie just grinned in response, and Eddie didn’t realize what was happening until he was already being shoved underwater by the hands on his waist. Richie’s hands let go for a moment and found their way to his shoulders, pressing down as Eddie pressed up. 

Eddie thought, suddenly, that in another scenario this would be terrifying. He had his eyes open under the water and he could see the light above him, but Richie’s hands were firm and strong to keep him from it. Eddie wasn’t scared, though. He’d meant it when he’d said he trusted Richie - trusted him enough to jump off the cliff together, trusted him enough to know when to push Eddie down and when to let him back up. He knew Richie meant it when he said he wouldn’t let Eddie get hurt. 

Still, Eddie found himself reaching and grabbing Richie’s wrists as he pushed up, and suddenly, he felt Richie’s arms loosen, and he was breaking back through to the sunlight. 

“Asshole,” Eddie gasped, taking a gulp of air. “You could’ve killed me.” He never would have, but this was the dance they did every time. 

“Yep!” Richie said, simply. “You’re too cute to let drown, though,” he added, winking. 

Eddie was suddenly extremely aware of the fact that he was still holding Richie’s wrists, keeping his hand’s on Eddie’s shoulders. Eddie pulled his hands back into the water with a splash, his head following suit. 

The water was cool on his warm face, and he stayed under for a moment to collect himself. When he resurfaced, he tipped his face up so that his hair was pushed off of his forehead. He ran a hand through it anyways as Richie watched him, an odd expression on his face. 

Before Richie could say anything, Mike was yelling at them from where the rest of their friends were. 

“Hey, come play chicken!” 

It was another game they frequently partook in at the quarry, and had since they were kids. 

“Hell yeah!” Richie whooped, and then he was swimming off towards the rest of their friends. Eddie trailed behind slightly. 

He and Richie were usually a team - they had perfected their strategy years ago, and knew exactly how to interpret the others’ actions to keep from losing their balance. They were a force to be reckoned with, for sure. 

But the thought of playing with Richie sent a jolt of embarrassment through Eddie - he usually sat on Richie’s shoulders, but the idea of that now...Nope. No way. 

Richie got to the circle his friends were standing in first, and he was waiting expectantly when Eddie got there. 

“Ready to crush these fools, Eds?”

Eddie swallowed nervously. “Um, what if we switch it up today? Y’know, like...Bev, you wanna sit on my shoulders?” He hoped his tone didn’t sound as awkward and desperate as it felt. 

Bev looked at him and a moment later, he saw the realization of why he was asking come over her. 

“Oh! Yeah, that’s a good idea, Eddie,” she said, moving towards him. “It’ll be fun to mix it up.”

Eddie said a silent thank you to her as she stopped next to him. Richie was staring at them, expression blank. 

“Right! Sure!” His voice was extra bright, his grin wide. “Gotta give these other people a fighting chance, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie said, failing to muster the same enthusiasm as Richie. 

“How about you and me, Stan?” Richie asked, and after some pestering, Stan agreed. They usually played just in pairs, cycling through so there was no one person left out. 

Eddie watched Richie sink into the water to let Stan get on his shoulders. He did the same, angling himself so Bev could easier get up. He felt her squeeze his shoulder reassuringly once before she lifted herself onto his shoulders, swinging her legs down on either side of his neck.

Eddie stood up, swaying slightly. He was much more used to being the person being held up, not the person doing the holding. Still, he rebalanced himself and grabbed Bev’s shin’s, holding them steady to his chest. He walked over towards Richie and Stan, who appeared to be ready to go. 

“You’re so going down,” Bev said cheerfully when they arrived in front of their opponents. Eddie didn’t share her confidence. 

“Oh, we’ll see, Marsh,” Richie answered, but he was looking at Eddie when he said it. Eddie swallowed hard, looking away. 

“You guys ruh-ready?” Bill asked. When they all confirmed they were, he counted them in. “Okay - three, two, one!”

Eddie couldn’t see what was happening above him, but he could feel Bev being pushed around. He did his best to keep both his balance and his distance away from Richie, but both were nearly impossible. At one point, Stan and Bev must’ve had each other in a locked grip, and their legs were bumping into each other as Eddie and Richie tried to stay upright. They were close together, close enough that Eddie could see the way Richie’s eyelashes were sticking together with water. 

Bev and Stan were yelling at each other and laughing, and so were their other friends from the sidelines (“C’mon, Bev! Knock him off!” “Get her, Stan, you got this!”), but Richie and Eddie were silent. It was a charged silence, filling the small distance between them. It was weird to be seeing things from this point of view, weirder still to be on opposing sides. Richie took a step to the side to balance Stan, and somehow was even closer to Eddie than before. They stared at each other for a moment, and then Richie reached between them and settled a hand on Eddie’s chest. Eddie sucked in a sharp breath. 

When Richie shoved hard a second later, Eddie was so caught off guard that he let go of Bev’s leg’s, and both of them were sent backwards into the water with a splash.

When Eddie resurfaced, it was like nothing strange had happened. Richie was forcing Stan’s arm’s up in the air, singing “We Are the Champions” at the top of his lungs. 

“No time for losers,” he belted, catching Eddie’s eye with a grin, “‘cause we are the champions - of the world!”

On the last part of the line, Richie tipped Stan backwards, making him fall of Richie’a shoulders. 

“Hey—!” Stan yelled, but the rest of his words were swallowed up by the water. 

When he surfaced, he splashed some water in Richie’s face with a scowl.

“Traitor,” he said, but there was no malice in it. 

“I’m only in it for myself,” Richie said with a contented sigh. 

Eddie felt a sudden tap on his arm - it was Bev, her hair clinging to her forehead. 

“You okay?” she asked, quiet enough that Eddie was sure he was the only one who heard it. 

“I...” Eddie trailed off as Bev looked at him with concern. “Yeah,” he mumbled, “I think so.” It wasn’t incredibly convincing, but he meant it. She gave him a supportive smile, and the moment was over.

Richie and Stan went again, this time against Mike and Bill. Eddie watched Stan and Bill grapple with each other as Mike and Richie fought to keep balanced. Richie didn’t touch Mike. 

Eddie tried to convince himself it was nothing, because Richie seemed fine. Whatever weirdness Eddie was feeling was surely of his own making, he reasoned. That would make sense. 

He ignored it, letting the weird tension slide off of him as he joined back in cheering for his friends as they played chicken. He got in on a few more rounds too, and by that point he felt like he’d totally imagined the tension. It was a distant, indistinct memory in the face of laughing and yelling with his friends.

They kept going for a while, more and more rounds. Eddie and Mike, Bev and Stan, Richie and Ben, on and on. Richie didn’t try to pair with Eddie again, and they didn’t end up facing each other again, and Eddie convinced himself it was a coincidence.

“That’s it, I’m done,” Bev gasped, popping back above the surface. She and Bill had just lost to Richie and Stan, both of them toppling into the water after a heated fight. 

“Me too,” Bill agreed, shaking his wet hair out of his eyes. 

“You guys are la-ame,” Richie singsonged, but he started to swim towards the shore anyways. They all followed, chatting as they did. It wasn’t a far swim back, but Eddie found by the time they were there that he was glad they’d decided to call it quits. He was surprisingly tired as they dragged themselves out of the water and back up to the top of the cliff, looking forward to the prospect of just sitting and basking in the afternoon sunshine. 

He didn’t seem to be the only one who was starting to feel the effects of the fresh air and all the swimming; conversation dwindled as they climbed back up to where they’d left their clothes and their shoes, and everyone seemed grateful once they finally got back there. 

Bev immediately laid down on the smooth section of rock in front of the ones on which they usually sat; Eddie sat down next to her. The rest of their friends filled in the half circle of rocks that formed a sort of natural bench, and there was a moment of silence as every soaked up the heat from the stones and the sun.

Ben got up after a minute, disappeared, and brought back his radio. 

“Forgot I grabbed it,” he said, and everyone nodded, except for Richie, who said, “Hell yeah! Play us some tunes, Benny boy!”

Ben rolled his eyes, but he did turn on the radio. He tuned into some channel playing a pop song Eddie didn’t know, but he didn’t mind. The seven of them just sat there for a bit, listening in the afternoon sun. 

Soon enough, chatter started up again amongst them. 

“I think I’ve recovered enough from Bill’s truly heinous betrayal to go get some ice cream,” Richie said magnanimously. “Thoughts?”

“I think yuh-yuh-you’re an idiot,” Bill offered. 

Richie seemed to consider it, resting his chin between his pointer finger and thumb. “Yep,” he said finally, smiling brightly. “Anyone else?”

“I’m good for ice cream,” Ben said, and there was no animosity in his tone even though he’d been the one to suggest it firat earlier. 

Mike, Stan, and Bev all agreed, at which point Richie turned to Eddie. 

“Eds? You in?” 

Eddie wanted so badly to say yea, especially with the hopeful look Richie was giving him, but...

“I...I think I have to get home soon,” he said, biting the inside of his mouth. 

If Richie was disappointed, he didn’t let it show. 

“Of course, of course. I know how demanding Mrs. K can be,” he said wistfully. 

“Gross,” Eddie said, but it was reassuring that Richie was acting like himself. 

Speaking of having to go home, Eddie got up from where he was sitting and found his pile of clothes. Pulling his watch out, he was glad he’d decided to check - it was already almost twenty to five. Eddie clipped the watch on, wishing the day had gone slower. He didn’t want to have to go home, back to his mother and his stuffy house and the achey weight of his own thoughts. He sighed as he put his socks back on, and then shoved his feet into his sneakers.

“Leaving us so soon, Spaghetti?” 

Eddie paused while tying his shoe to find that Richie had walked over to him at some point. He had put his t-shirt back on, which Eddie was grateful for, but his hair was also drying in curls that Eddie’s fingers itched to run through to get the tangles out of, which he was less grateful for. 

“Yeah,” was all Eddie said back as he pulled the knot on his shoe tight. 

“I can go with you,” Richie said, then added, “I mean, y’know. Ride with you to the street corner. I should probably go home too, honestly.” It sounded weak - Eddie knew that Maggie and Went didn’t mind when Richie was out. He didn’t let himself read into what Richie was saying, or why. There was no point.

“It’s fine, Richie,” Eddie said, standing up. 

Richie looked unsure, something Eddie wasn’t used to seeing so clearly written on his face. 

“Seriously,” he added. “Enjoy some ice cream for me. Terrorize someone else with your finger licking,” Eddie added, gently shoving Richie’s shoulder. 

“You know I will,” Richie shot back, but it fell short of his usual enthusiasm. 

Eddie took a few steps past Richie, back towards the rest of his friends. 

“Gotta go, guys,” he said, apologetic. “See you guys - well, y’know. I’ll see you.” Eddie wished he could say see you tomorrow, but who knew if he would? 

His friends understood, though, and a chorus of goodbyes were sent his way. 

“Pour out a cone for me,” he said over his shoulder, face solemn. 

“You got it,” Mike said, and Eddie grinned at him. 

Richie was still standing where Eddie had left him to say goodbye to the rest of their friends. He was watching Eddie with a thoughtful expression, absentmindedly biting his lower lip. Eddie forced himself to look at Richie’s eyes instead, brows sitting heavy on his usually light features. 

Eddie stopped next to Richie, unsure what he was supposed to say. This felt weird, too weird to just be Eddie imagining things because of his own feelings. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. Before he could try again, Richie made eye contact with him and jerked his head towards the direction of their bikes. Without waiting for Eddie, he turned around and started walking. 

Eddie blinked, then took a few quick strides to catch up to Richie. 

“Seriously, you don’t have to leave, Rich,” Eddie said after an awkward few seconds of walking in silence without looking at each other. 

“I know,” Richie said, and he finally glanced at Eddie from the corner of his eye. Eddie tried to read something in the quick look, but he couldn’t grasp anything from Richie’s gaze. It felt unusually guarded, which Eddie wasn’t used to, and then Richie was looking forward again. “Just making sure you don’t get lost on the way to your bike, Eds!”

Whatever Eddie had though he’d seen was gone, replaced by Richie’s typical smile. Eddie fell into it - gratefully, easily. 

“You know I’m better with directions than you,” Eddie scoffed. “Remember when you got lost literally at the grocery store?” 

“Okay, to be fair,” Richie said, gesturing with his palms face up, “the pasta isles there are like a labyrinth. Like, I think Daedalus built that shit,” he added, glancing at Eddie again out of the corner of his eye to gauge his reaction. 

Eddie didn’t see that particular look, because he had his eyes closed as he laughed. Even though he was shaking his head when he said, “You’re so hopeless!”, he was still grinning. It felt good - it felt normal, and Eddie was glad for the return to some sense of normalcy. 

By that point, they’d reached the place where their bikes were all lying on the grass. They stopped in front of them, Eddie taking the extra few steps toward his own bike. Richie watched as he grabbed the handlebars and wrangled it upright, leaning it against his hip once he did so. 

Eddie glanced at his watch; he would have just enough time to get home on time. 

“So...” he said, feeling sort of queasy now that it was just he and Richie. 

“I gotta g—“  
“Tell your m—“

They’s both started speaking at the same time, but Eddie snapped his mouth closed and wrinkled his nose at Richie.

“Were you seriously making another joke about my mom?” he asked, frowning. 

“Y’know, I just can’t help myself,” Richie said with a dramatic sigh, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Whatever,” Eddie said, shaking his head with a tiny smile on his face. Richie returned it with a full, bright smile that tied Eddie’s stomach in knots.

“Well! See you soon, Dr. K,” Richie said, back in the British voice and giving Eddie a mock salute. 

Eddie suddenly felt the urge to ask if Richie was okay, or if they were okay, or both. There had been that handful of moments over the past few hours where Eddie wasn’t sure, moments that Eddie couldn’t read and didn’t know how to make sense of. Maybe it was just him and his own thoughts making things seem weird, because most of the day had been totally normal. It had been great, really. But the moments before Richie smiled at him again, brighter than before, made Eddie pause. 

“Earth to Eddie! You better get going,” Richie said teasingly, his voice calling Eddie back to reality. 

This was a totally normal moment. Eddie could’ve felt his way through this interaction blind with his hands behind his back and it would be easy, because this was familiar. He let the relief from the sense of familiarity soothe away the urge to ask Richie if things were okay, because they seemed to be in that moment and that was enough. 

“Yeah! Yeah,” Eddie said. “Thanks,” he added, smiling at Richie. “Don’t murder Bill over ice cream flavors though, ‘kay?”

Richie blinked like he’d momentarily forgotten about the ice cream and his debate with Bill. Then he sighed, saying, “Well, there go my afternoon plans to bludgeon Big Bill to death with an ice cream scoop.”

“Beep beep,” Eddie said with a smile. He wheeled bis bike to the street and swung his leg over the seat. 

“See ya, Richie,” he threw over his shoulder before he started peddalling. He didn’t turn around again to see, but he felt like Richie watched him go.

Eddie tried not to think about it on the way home. Instead, he enjoyed the last minutes of the sun on his face and the wind in his hair before he would have to spend another however long at home with his mother. 

The ride was over all too soon, and before he knew it he was stepping off of his bike and walking it beside the house. He was a few minutes ahead of when he had to be home, a safe cushion of time. He stood on the stairs for a minute, watching the clouds drift lazily. 

With a sigh, Eddie pushed open the door and entered his house.

“Hi, Mommy,” he said, loud enough that she would be able to hear him unless she was upstairs. 

She wasn’t.

“Eddiebear,” she said, voice coming from the living room. It was both a greeting and a summoning, and after pulling off his sneakers, Eddie stepped into the room. 

The television was on, the cold light of it fighting the evening sunshine for control of the room. His mother was on her chair, looking immobile. 

“Can you get dinners ready, sweetie?” She had pulled her eyes from the TV screen to say it, but they slid back after the moment it took her to speak. She seemed like she was in a bad mood, or at least had the potential to slip into one. Eddie didn’t want to rock the boat, so he turned silently away and went into the kitchen. 

“Getting dinners ready” meant frozen meals; Eddie was familiar enough with the request to know that. He also knew enough not to suggest the hypocrisy of his mother’s frequent use of them for dinner in the face of her obsession with Eddie’s health and all the dangers of the world. Who knew what sort of chemicals were hiding in the frozen “foods”, not to mention the microwaved plastic—

But Eddie didn’t really mind. It wasn’t like it had killed him yet, so he tried not to think about it. 

Going to their refrigerator, he pulled open the top door to the freezer. The cold air seeped out and settled on his bare arms as he reached in and retrieved two cardboard packages; he closed it as soon as he had them out, not wanting to let out the chill. 

He didn’t have to think much about it as he ripped the boxes open and slid the plastic trays out, each one covered in a thin plastic. It was familiar and easy and natural as breathing - Eddie had been eating these sorts of things several times a week since he could remember. He pulled out a fork to poke holes in the plastic covering, mind far from his small kitchen.

He was thinking about the day. It had been - well, good, he guessed, but weird. Not what he’d been expecting from the day, that was for sure. 

He put the two trays into the microwave (they just barely fit side by side) and set the time for ten minutes, medium power. 

Eddie certainly hadn’t been planning on telling anyone what he’d realized. Telling Bev had been - it had been a totally spontaneous thing. He hadn’t woken up knowing he was going to spill all of his thoughts to someone, but seeing her in the clubhouse had felt like a sign that he should. After all, she was the one who knew the most about his mom; she had treated him so kindly and been such a good ear on the other occasion where his emotions had spilled all over the clubhouse, it made sense for it to be her. 

Besides, it had been eating him up to be stuck alone with his thoughts. He’d only known for a few days, but it had felt like he would explode with the knowledge if he had to bear it alone. He couldn’t imagine keeping it in forever, although on some level that had been his plan. He knew that he’d been right when he thought about the possibility of the truth coming out in a less ideal way - if he waited too long, he feared that he would just end up spewing his feelings everywhere, around god knows who.

No, it was better to have told Beverly like he had: in control, just the two of them, a conversation on his own terms.

He could still feel the flood of relief when she’d been okay with the whole thing. She hadn’t yelled, hadn’t taken a step back, hadn’t laughed or left. Sure, she’d taken a second to grasp it - could Eddie blame her? - but she had, and it had been almost like no big deal. She’d cracked a joke, given him some advice, and just been his friend the same as always. It felt almost unreal how lucky he was to have someone like her to listen and to understand, or if not quite understand, to support him anyways. 

And it made all the difference, Eddie thought as he watched the trays in the microwave spin. Even though it hadn’t been the most articulate at points, he said things to Bev that would’ve been difficult to say even to himself. Especially after the initial struggle to get it out; talking to her about Richie had felt freeing, almost normal and not at all painful and difficult the way thinking about his feelings on his own sometimes had been. 

And laughing with her about it? That was the best Eddie had felt about the whole thing since he realized it. 

It was in the small things, too. Her little playful nudge at the quarry, as though to say, “I see you, Romeo. You’re a nerd, and you’re my friend, and I see you”. It was the same lightness from the way she’d looked at him to check in after he’d told her about his mom. 

Eddie would have to like, buy her some candy or something, he thought. It was unreal how lucky he was to have Bev around, and how grateful. 

But thinking of the nudge at the quarry made Eddie think of Richie there, too. He steered his thoughts away from what he’d been doing when Bev had given him that nudge, instead thinking about the way Richie had seemed so sincere when he’d said he wouldn’t let anything happen to Eddie. It could’ve been a bit - probably was, at least in part. It was a dramatic thing to say for a jump into water they’d made dozens of times before, but there had been something in Richie’s eyes that made Eddie sure that he meant it. 

And then there was what Eddie still didn’t know what to make of: that strange moment when they were playing chicken. It hadn’t been a feeling he was used to from Richie. He wasn’t even sure he could identify it, and he was usually almost as good at reading Richie as Richie was at reading him. If he had to name it, he might’ve put it somewhere between deeply thoughtful and intentionally blank. It had to have been intentional: Eddie could all but see the wall between them in that moment, even as they were close enough to touch. 

And they had, Eddie recalled vividly. 

Richie had breached whatever wall was between them and put one hand on Eddie’s chest. Eddie was embarrassed to think about how much it had thrown him - seriously, how often had he and Richie done shit like that before? Now it was suddenly different? Stupid. 

But it had been different, and that second between Richie putting his hand against Eddie’s chest and when he shoved hard against it had been...weird. Eddie was still unsure how much of it was weird because he made it that way, or because he was just overthinking, but there had been something oddly charged about the moment. 

And of course, as soon as it was over, Richie had acted like nothing had happened at all. 

So maybe it hadn’t. Maybe it was nothing, just a product of Eddie’s overly insistent heart and mind. Maybe—

Beeeeep. Beeeeep. 

Eddie was pulled back to reality by the microwave’s jarring tones. Shelving those thoughts for later, he opened the microwave door and pulled out the hot trays one at a time and dropped them quickly on the counter to avoid burning his hands

He peeled off the plastic on the trays and put a fork in each one. Using a napkin under each as a buffer from the heat, he carried them into the living room. 

“Here you go,” he said, holding out the tray to his mother. She looked at him for a moment, the down at the tray, then back at him. 

“Mhm,” she said, taking the tray from him and moving her eyes back to the ad on the television. 

Eddie sighed lightly at her glazed actions, moving in front of the TV to sit on the couch. 

He started poking at his peas just as the ad ended, and it was replaced by the introductory tones of Jeopardy. His mother was fond of game shows, if nothing else than for the opportunity to complain about the competitors. He couldn’t begin to estimate the amount of hours spent watching the TV, listening to her talking about how “he’s going to blow all the money on drugs, just look at him!” or “She ought to have a more sensible haircut, no one will ever look at her like that” or “How dis this queer get on the show? Absolutely ridiculous.” It was a miserable thing to witness, but if she was occupied with watching and complaining about the people on the show, she wasn’t doing the same to the person in the room, so Eddie bore it silently. 

This time, his mother didn’t seem to have much to say. They ate silently, Eddie poking unenthusiastically at the tough strips of steak in his tray and thinking longingly of the home cooked meals the he sometimes got to share in at Bill’s house. 

Still, he was almost grateful that his mother was too preoccupied with eating and whatever mood she was in to make commentary. 

Eddie stayed there on the couch for the full episode of the show, and got up only to take care of his tray and fork. He stopped dutifully next to his mother’s chair, taking hers too. 

When he got back, he settled into the same spot on the couch and tried to care about the reruns that started. It was an easy way of making up for the fact that he’d been gone all afternoon, maybe earn him some understanding next time he wanted to go out. It was mostly painless, especially without his mother’s constant stream of judgmental commentary, so Eddie stayed and watched for another two full episodes.

Partway through the third, he started to get bored beyond belief of the endless, mindless content on the television. He had to much to think about, stuff that he couldn’t do while sitting with his mother and her occasional observation about the show.

At one of the commercial breaks, Eddie stood. He stretched his arms above his head, subtly trying to get his mom’s attention. When it didn’t work, he cleared his throat and said, “I think I’m gonna go upstairs.”

She turned to look at him, face mostly shadows as the sun had largely gone away and left only a lingering gray light beyond the horizon. Eddie couldn’t make out the expression on her face, if there was one, but after a few moments of silent scrutiny she was apparently satisfied. 

“Fine,” was all she said, turning back the the TV. 

Eddie didn’t need to be told twice. He moved as fast as he could without jogging out of the living room and down the hall. He hurried up the stairs, and then finally into his room. 

The door closed behind him with a satisfying click. It was suddenly much quieter - Eddie hadn’t realized how loud the television had been until it was gone. 

Now that he was alone, the drone of his thoughts was more than loud enough to make up for it. Of course, they were predominantly about Richie, as they had been for the past several days. 

Eddie moved to his bed and sat down, kicking his legs out absentmindedly. He was thinking again about the quarry - and there was a lot to think about. His mind kept going back to that unfamiliar blankness on Richie’s face right before he pushed Eddie into the water, and the way the Richie had acted totally normal afterwards. 

Well, mostly normal. It had seemed too perfect to be coincidental that he and Eddie didn’t end up facing off again, but...maybe it was nothing. Why would Richie have wanted to avoid him like that? It wasn’t like he hadn’t been joking around still, and he had walked with Eddie to his bike after, so maybe Eddie was overthinking. 

Or maybe it was Eddie who had been making that space between them weird when they were both standing there in the water, separated only by the space of their friend’s legs on their shoulders. 

That would make more sense, Eddie reasoned. After all, he hadn’t been exactly totally normal; Bev knew what to look for, sure, but she’d noticed his behavior around Richie. Maybe Richie had picked up on something off too, or maybe Eddie’s slightly nervous energy had just invaded the space for a moment. 

Eddie let himself fall backwards, laying back on his bed with his legs hanging off. It reminded him of the moment after the one he was ruminating on, of splashing back into the cool water. It wasn’t like Richie had pushed that hard, ironically, but it had been enough to throw Eddie off. 

He put one hand on his chest, trying to angle his arm so his hand was resting flat the way Richie’s had been, and pushed down. He could feel the bones underneath his warm skin, and the steady rise and fall of his chest. Of course, Richie wouldn’t have felt that, having on had his hand there for the briefest moment, but—

Eddie yanked his hand away, embarrassed. What was he doing? It was stupid to sit and think about this, but even more so to what, act it out again? 

It wasn’t like anyone would know except for him, but it was still embarrassing. 

Unfortunately, forcing his brain away from that moment led into one that was potentially more embarrassing: when Bev had caught him standing like a deer in the headlights, as though he’d never in his life seen Richie shirtless before. And it wasn’t even like he was like, buff or something, it was just Richie. 

That was more than enough, though, because Eddie didn’t care about buff. He didn’t want muscles or a six pack or whatever - he just cared about Richie, which was arguably more embarrassing, because who was just gonna stare at some gangly limbs and a body just starting to grow into itself?

Eddie, apparently. 

He pulled his legs up onto the bed and rolled over so he was lying on his stomach, shoving his face into his pillow. It was pleasantly cool against what he was sure was his lightly pink face. 

Stupid. Stupid. 

He let out a frustrated groan into the pillow, willing his brain to stop thinking about it. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen the same thing more times than he could count, but he knew it was just different now, and that was stupid. And weird. 

He didn’t want it to be different. 

Well, okay. That wasn’t strictly true. In his heart - his stupid, annoying heart - he did want things to be different. But not just in his head; he wanted things to really be different. To be able to do something about the way he felt, for Richie to feel the same, for some stupid rom-com bullshit that he knew was totally stupid and unrealistic to happen. Like, kiss in the rain, boombox under the window, that sort of shit that Eddie had never really cared about before. 

Eddie rolled onto his side with a sigh. It was an impossibility, the dumb fantasy of his heart that refused to listen to his brain. It was embarrassing even to think about it. It was pointless, and Eddie wasn’t a huge fan of the fluttering stomach and the heat in his face when his mind wandered like this. 

He stared at his room in the dimming light, everything washed in the subtle gray light still hanging in the sky. It would be better to feel nothing. He fantasized instead, for a moment, about scooping out the part of his brain that insisted on richierichierichie, or maybe reaching in through his ribs and pulling out his traitorous, annoying heart. 

(I’d be tender, I’d be gentle, and awful sentimental regarding love and art.)

He put two fingers just under his jaw, feeling his heart beating steadily. 

(I hear a beat! How sweet—)

The Tin Man had it all wrong. If Eddie was the one without a heart, he would never wish for one. It was too annoying, too unruly, too - too complicated. He put his hand on his chest again, picturing reaching right through and scooping the offending organ out. 

That was a mistake, because then he was thinking about Richie all over again. 

“Ugh!” 

Eddie rolled onto his back and stared at his ceiling with a frown. Jesus, was this how Ben felt all the time? How did he manage it? Maybe Eddie should start writing sappy poetry.

“Yeah, right,” he snorted quietly to no one. It was much more his style to push it away, to try not to think about it.

Suddenly, he could hear Bev’s voice in his mind. 

But don’t like, squish your own heart back down, y’know? You’re allowed to feel.

Eddie sighed again, knowing she was right just as he’d known earlier. He couldn’t do anything about this, but maybe - maybe someday there would be someone else, someplace else, and he would be able to do something about it then. He wanted to think that someday he could be happy, as much as what he about being gay seemed like that would be hard to find. But if it would ever happen, he would have to let it. If he kept shoving things down and away, he might ruin everything. 

He didn’t know how he knew that, but he just did. He didn’t want to permanently kill off the part of him that was full of love, even if he wished it would go away. 

Maybe he really should start writing stupid poetry. 

...Okay, no. But he could let himself feel, like Bev had said. Maybe that would be enough, for now. It had to be. That was the only option he had. 

Eddie sighed, expelling the tension from his shoulders and closing his eyes. He had to let himself relax, try to fight the urge to close back up and off from himself. 

It didn’t take more than a moment after he stopped actively trying to distract himself for Eddie’s mind to drift back to Richie. 

He let himself think about the moments before they’d jumped at the quarry. Richie grinning, pleasantly surprised when Eddie had said that he did trust him. The way Richie had effortlessly grabbed Eddie’s wrist to tug him along - not quite holding hands, but close enough that it had sent Eddie’s heart into a tiny flutter. The reassuring smile after he let go of Eddie’s wrist, the brightness in his eyes that was just for Eddie in that moment. 

God, this was so embarrassing. Eddie almost wished Richie was still away at camp - he somehow thought it might be easier to think like this if Richie were far away, as though because he was home he might pop in at any moment and say, “Gotcha! You were thinking about me, weren’t you!”

But of course, that wouldn’t happen. It couldn’t, and besides, Richie wasn’t telepathic. This wasn’t an X-Men comic, and Eddie was as alone as he would ever be to think about this stuff, so he pressed on. 

Back to that sunny moment above the water, he let his mind wander to the way the sunlight had caught in Richie’s hair, each unruly curl highlighted in its rays. Eddie wanted to be able to run his fingers through it - embarrassing! - but of course he hadn’t. 

His mind moved to the exhilarating rush of running side by side with Richie off the edge, losing the solid ground beneath his feet and plummeting through the air. The way they’d laughed and yelled as they fell, and Eddie hadn’t even felt scared, once he was moving - he thought maybe there was a metaphor to be made there, but he was no Ben, so he let it slip away. 

His mind shifted gears then, to right before he’d left the group, when it was just he and Richie. That smile after Richie made that stupid, somehow endearing joke about Eddie’s mom...Eddie wondered again if that was a smile Richie shared with everyone, or if it was just for when he annoyed Eddie. 

Suddenly, his brain dipped from memory into fantasy. Eddie wondered, momentarily, what might have happened if he had reached out for Richie before he said goodbye and got on his bike. If he’d reached out for Richie’s hand, twining their fingers together the way he wanted to. He never could have, but...it was a nice thought. 

Or, his mind continued, what if he’d pulled Richie into a hug, letting his bike fall to the ground when he stepped close enough to reach him? Eddie’s brain was fully involved now, and he could see the impossible playing out in his head. 

He would’ve taken a step forward, awkward at first, and Richie would’ve looked at him with one eyebrow quirked when Eddie allowed his bike to tip over and crash down onto the grass. But the look would’ve only lasted a moment before Eddie was reaching out and wrapping his arms around Richie’s shoulders. He would have to stand up on his toes to manage it, but that would be better than going around Richie’s arms like a vice. 

Maybe Richie would push him off in real life or make some sort of joke that made Eddie back off, but in his mind, this Richie did neither. Instead, he brought his own arms up and around Eddie, gently, like he was confused. 

Eddie had his head resting against Richie’s shoulder, turned outwards so his cheek was pressed against the material of his t-shirt. He could feel the water dripping off of the ends of Richie’s hair onto his arms, could feel the cold tips of it brushing against his wrist. 

“Eds?” 

It was quiet, filled with a softness Eddie was sure only existed in his imagination. 

Eddie pulled back his head slightly, turning to look at Richie. He was already looking at Eddie, and because neither of them had let go, their noses were only inches apart. 

“Um,” Richie said, awkward even in Eddie’s head, and Eddie thought for a moment he might push Eddie away. 

But then Richie’s eye glanced down, and his arms shifted so it was just his hands on Eddie’s waist like it had been in the water. Eddie felt butterflies sprout in his stomach as Richie’s eye flicked slightly downward again and he bit his lip. 

He looked back up at Eddie’s eyes, and then, slowly, as though he didn’t want to scare Eddie away, he tilted his head slightly to the side and moved ever so slightly towards Eddie—

Eddie’s eyes flew open in the now dark of his room.

Okay! That’s enough! he yelled in his mind, cutting off thr scene before it could go any further.

He covered his burning face with his hands, expression somewhere between a scrunched up grimace and a smile. That had been - so embarrassing, Eddie’s mind supplied first. And then, softer, as though the thought itself were embarrassing too, he realized it had also been sort of nice.

“Oh my god,” Eddie groaned, rolling over so his face was once again buried in his pillow. His nose was being squished against his hands, but he barely noticed. 

He was in such deep shit.

After laying face down for a minute, Eddie rolled over again onto his back. That had been - too much. It was almost mortifying how easily his brain had jumped to that once he’d let it, but it had almost been freeing. Freeing and incredibly, severely nerve wracking. 

Eddie was suddenly exhausted. It was like the day caught up with him all at once: his restless sleep, his emotional conversation with Bev, all the fresh air at the quarry and the weird moments there. This somewhat humiliating product of his imagination was the last, tiring straw. 

It was sort of early - Eddie thought maybe he should try to get up and find something to do for a bit. As soon as he thought it, though, a yawn wormed its way out and Eddie took it as a sign that it was in fact time for him to go to sleep. 

Forcing himself out of bed, he stripped off his clothes and changed into some clean pajamas. His eyes were starting to feel heavy, and it was a relief to burrow under his blankets. 

It was mostly dark now, and Eddie let his eyes close. He let his mind wander, too relaxed in his exhaustion to worry about stopping it.

He thought about Richie, of course; luckily, his mind was equally exhausted, and there were no more elaborate fantasies to be found. Just memories, blurry and swimming behind Eddie’s eyelids. Richie cracking jokes, Richie making room for him in the hammock, Richie riding down the street with him, hair blowing away from his face, yelling at the top of his lungs.

Somewhere between thinking about the way Richie smiled at him and the way that his eyes burned amber when the sun hit them just right, Eddie drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> confessions, quarries, and yearning - oh my!
> 
> eddie is really in his feelings, huh? as you might've noticed, this fic is set to have only one more chapter (that can always change, but thats the plan!) so strap in and get ready for that one! leave a comment if you wanna let me know what you thought, i'll see you guys again soon enough!


	10. cool beats and basophobia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> buckle in for 15K!

Eddie didn’t know if it was a miracle or if his mother had been replaced in the night or if some distant stars had aligned just so, but he didn’t really care. Whatever the reason was, he wasn’t about to question it; the sun was much too bright, the feel of the pavement far too nice under his tires to waste even a second wondering how he’d managed to get out of the house to see his friends two days in a row. 

Stan had called him earlier, a little before eleven.

_“Hello?”_

_“We’re meeting at the clubhouse in half an hour,” came Stan’s voice through the line, not wasting time with any preamble. _

_E_ _ddie twisted the phone cord around his finger absentmindedly. He knew it was all but pointless - he’d been out all day yesterday, he would never be able to get his mom to let him out again. Of course, he wanted to go, but it felt hopeless._

_“Bill just got a bunch of new comics,” Stan added, when Eddie didn’t fill in the silence from his end of the line. _

_E_ _ddie almost let out a groan of frustration. He’d wanted to go before, but new comics? He’d give anything to be able to go flip through them with his friends. It had been too long since he’d read new ones, too often relegated to the ones he had in his room. It would be amazing to crack open a new issue, to take in new words and drink in the flashy illustrations, but—_

_"_ _Eddie? Are you there?”_

_“Yeah,” Eddie said, sighing. “Sorry, Stan. I don’t think I can get out.” There was a note of bitterness mixed into the obvious disappointment in his tone, and he was sure Stan could hear it, too. _

_Stan let out an understanding hum, then said, “Next time. I’ll get Bill to keep them in the clubhouse for you.” _

_Eddie smiled sadly into the receiver. _

_“Thanks, Stan. Have fun,” he added, halfheartedly. _

_"_ _See ya, Eddie,” Stan said._

_“Bye.”_

_And the line went dead._

Eddie had sighed, dragging himself back up to his room for a day full of absolutely nothing. After trying and failing for a little more than half an hour to satisfy himself with the comics he’d already read a dozen times before, Eddie had flopped onto his bed, about ready to just give up and stare at the ceiling for the rest of the day.

He had, for a bit - just stared blankly up, thinking. He should be with his friends. He deserved to be, deserved to be out having fun and enjoying his summer with the people he cared about! He shouldn’t be stuck inside and kept away from everything; who cares if he went out the day before? Most of his friends went out every day!

He’d sat up, suddenly determined. He would ask his mom to go out and see his friends. The worst she could do was say no, Eddie reasoned with himself as he got up and moved towards the door. Hearing no was at least better than not trying at all.

So he had asked, and he’d already been prepared for the no that was about to come his way. She’d looked at him shrewdly, eyes scanning him without pause.

He didn’t know if it was something about his tone or his posture or if she’d fallen and hit her head, but after a few moments, he’d been completely caught off guard when she agreed to let him go out. She hadn’t even reminded him of coming home for dinner.

Eddie hadn’t waited around to see if she would change her mind. He’d just stuffed his feet into his shoes and dashed out the door, and that was how he’d come to find himself there on his bike, pedaling towards the Barrens. 

It was only twenty minutes or so after Stan had said that the Losers were meeting up, so Eddie was feeling pretty good. Sure, he’d be a bit late, but it wasn’t like that mattered all that much. What mattered was that - miraculously - he would be there at all, and Eddie grinned into the breeze as he turned the corner. 

He seemed to get to the Barrens in no time. Eddie hardly remembered dropping his bike, but he must have, because he found himself walking happily through the sun dappled trees towards the clubhouse.

It would be so nice to hang out with everyone again so soon. Eddie couldn’t help the pleasant smile on his face as he made his way towards where he knew the hatch to the clubhouse was. He’d only seen them all yesterday, of course, but he’d hang out with them all every day if he could. There was just nothing like their group - all of them together was just something special. Like they were just supposed to click like that. Eddie couldn’t think of anything in his life he loved more than his friends, and being with them just had a certain magic. 

He could see that the door to the clubhouse was open, but he wasn’t really thinning about it as he walked towards it. He was too busy thinking about what comics Bill might have brought, about what Mike had been up to on the farm, about whether Bev would be able to be there, about all of his friends and what stupid debate they’d get into, and—

“Eds!”

Eddie had climbed down the ladder and into the clubhouse without realizing it. He also hadn’t realized, as he was making that climb, that there was not chatter coming from the clubhouse. It was quiet and, as Eddie observed with a quick glance, empty - except for one other person. 

Richie was in the hammock, sprawled lazily with one leg hanging over the side. He was leaning the opposite direction to balance it, holding a comic book. Eddie observed - unfortunately and without meaning to - that Richie’s hair was slightly messy from laying down, and he again felt the stupid itch to smooth it out with his fingers. If the grin Richie was giving him made Eddie’s stomach flip a little bit, he didn’t make it known.

Instead, what he said was, “Where’s everyone else?”

Richie stuck out his lower lip, making his eyes even larger behind his coke bottle glasses. 

“Aw, c’mon, Eds, am I not enough?” He put on hand on his chest, looking at Eddie with his best attempt at puppy dog eyes. 

"You’re _too_ much,” Eddie shot back in response without thinking. 

It made Richie laugh, and Eddie felt a glowing warmth at the sound. 

“Eds gets off a good one!” Richie whooped, smile reaching all the way up to his eyes. 

“Anyways,” he said after a moment, “dunno where the rest of the merry band of Losers are. Guess stuff came up for them or something, or they finally decided to ditch the two of us. Maybe they’ll replace you with...” Richie peered at him, thinking. “Freddy Ross,” he said after a moment. 

“What? No way!” Eddie snorted, imagining the incredibly awkward boy among their friend group. 

“I can see it,” Richie said sagely. 

“Well they’d have to wait for the circus to come to town to find a replacement for you,” Eddie sniped back easily. “Then they can take their pick of the clowns and freak show acts,” he added cheekily. 

“You wound me, Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie replied with a sigh, tipping his head dramatically to the side. 

“And you deserve it,” Eddie replied, settling down onto the swing. Richie watched him as he did so, unblinking. 

“So...” Eddie trailed off, uncertain. “Do you think anyone else will actually be here? I mean, Stan called me earlier—“

“Ah, you know Stan,” Richie said with a fond shrug. Eddie just looked at him blankly, so Richie continued, “Yeah, I don’t know what that was supposed to mean. He’s not usually late, though.”

That was true. Eddie swung himself slightly back and forth with his toes on the ground, absentmindedly moving. 

“Isn’t it better when it’s just the two of us, Eds?” Richie asked, and the sincerity in his voice made Eddie almost choke. 

Richie burst out laughing after a few seconds of gazing at Eddie with wide, heartfelt eyes. He threw his head back as he laughed, the hammock wavering with the force of his laughter. 

“Oh my god,” he said, voice still more laugh than words. “You should see your face, Eddie. What the hell, dude, you look like you’re about to have a stroke!” Richie burst into another peal of laughter as Eddie blinked at him with a red face.

Was it from anger or embarrassment? Eddie would wager a guess that it was both; it wasn’t that he’d expected Richie was serious, but everything was still so new that it caught him off guard. 

“Screw you,” Eddie said, sticking out his tongue playfully. 

“Screw me yourself,” Richie sniped back smoothly, throwing in an exaggerated wink. 

Eddie thought he might die if it kept up like this. Richie was acting the way he always did, but for Eddie, it was suddenly so incredibly, ridiculously torturous. Not that he could say anything about it, but still. Eddie wondered if he could get on Unsolved Mysteries if he were to spontaneously combust...

“What are ya doin’ so far away, Eduardo?” Richie’s voice cut through the quiet and Eddie’s own thoughts. “C’mon, I promise not to kick you. Much,” Richie added, scooching up in the hammock to make room for Eddie. He was looking across the clubhouse expectantly, and why shouldn’t he be? It wasn’t like he and Eddie hadn’t spent countless hours together in the increasingly small hammock, even when there were plenty of other places to sit. 

“Maybe I’m just appreciating the distance,” Eddie said weakly, not able to come up with anything funnier. 

Richie rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. You love me! Now bring that comic book over here and get on in,” Richie said, patting the hammock. “C’mon!”

Eddie didn’t want Richie to ask questions, so he slowly got up and made his way towards the hammock. He stopped to leaf through the crate of comic books, plucking one from the bunch that he hadn’t read in a long while. Richie placed his own comic book on his chest and stuck out his hand expectantly to hold Eddie’s while he climbed into the hammock. Eddie handed it to him silently, maneuvering himself in carefully so as to avoid crushing Richie.

He tried to avoid touching Richie as much as possible as he settled it, trying to keep his own legs pulled in as tightly as possible away from Richie’s. When Richie reached out to give Eddie his comic back, Eddie made sure their hands didn’t brush. 

It was sort of a useless endeavor. The hammock seemed to shrink every time they got in it together as they both grew. It felt even smaller this time, as though Eddie’s feelings - while hopefully invisible - were crushing them in, taking up a space that Eddie, at least. could tangibly feel. It felt restrictive and cramped. Eddie couldn’t find a way to avoid his and Richie’s shin’s brushing together, try as he might.

“Stop fucking wiggling around,” Richie said, peering at him from over their knees. “What’s your problem?”

“Nothing,” Eddie said, trying not to look uncomfortable. “Your freakishly long legs just get in the way,” he added, aiming for normal. 

Richie just rolled his eyes, ignoring the comment that Eddie had made so many times before. 

Eddie let out a breath, feeling as though he’d just passed some sort of test. Now all he had to do was relax and read his comic and act like he wasn’t extremely aware of the way that the hammock was far too small for the two of them to be anything but a tangled mess.

After another minute or so spent desperately trying not to fidget anymore, Eddie eventually settled down. He leaned the comic against his thighs, holding the corner of the page with one hand and letting the other rest on the edge of the hammock. He started to read as soon as he got himself set up - it wasn’t good as a brand new one like Stan had mentioned, but it was fine. He was quickly engrossed in the story and the art, the rest of the world falling to the wayside. 

Until Richie shifted, ever so slightly and ever so slowly, and pressed his shin against Eddie’s. 

Eddie froze. It was probably nothing, right? Just Richie getting comfortable, adjusting in the cramped hammock? 

He watched Richie with wide eyes, but Richie gave no sign that he was even aware he’d moved. After a moment of scanning for any indication that what had just happened was anything other than a totally unintended motion, Eddie settled back into his comic book. 

It didn’t take long for him to become involved with the story unfolding in front of him again, reading contentedly and totally engrossed. 

That was, until Richie shifted again. This time it was his hand, moving from where it had been resting in his lap to the edge of the hammock. Eddie stared at it. Their hands weren’t touching, but if Eddie straightened his arm and reached, they could be. 

He looked up again at Richie, who was still totally focused on his own comic book. Eddie felt like he was going crazy; had it always been like this, and he was just hyperaware of it now? Was this some weird bit of Richie’s to annoy Eddie? Was it a cruel trick by the universe?

Eddie didn’t know, but after nothing else happened for another several seconds, he decided to chalk it up to the first option. He would just ignore Richie’s little movements and read his comic book - easy enough, right? 

Yeah, Eddie didn’t think it would be, either.

Still, with that resolution in mind, Eddie returned to his comic book. He threw himself into it, inspecting every panel as if they held the secrets of the universe. He read slowly and took in every little bubble of dialogue with a careful gaze. If he could be meticulous enough with his reading, maybe he could ignore everything else.

Much to his surprise, it worked. If Richie made any more movements, Eddie wasn’t aware of them. He was far too involved in the heroes on the printed pages in his lap, and it was a relief to be thinking about totally fictitious people and problems.

He was so engrossed, in fact, that he totally missed the slow inching of Richie’s hand until his fingers were suddenly resting gently against Eddie’s.

The spell binding Eddie to the printed page was immediately broken; his head whipped up towards Richie only to find that this time, Richie was already looking at him. Eddie felt like he’d been caught doing something wrong, even though it was _Richie_ who had been looking at _him_—

Speaking of, Richie wasn’t looking away. His gaze was wide and steady behind his glasses, and Eddie felt like he couldn’t pull his eyes away. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the punchline of whatever joke Richie was playing.

Instead, without breaking eye contact, Richie moved his hand so it was totally over Eddie’s. Eddie felt his breath hitch - what the hell? What was going on? Why wasn’t Richie saying “Gotcha!” or pulling back with a laugh and a comment about how Eddie looked like he’d just seen a ghost? 

But neither of those moment’s came

“Um,” Eddie said, mouth dry. 

Richie blinked at him, worrying his lower lip. And then slowly, he twisted his hand around and slid it between Eddie’s hand and the hammock so that he was - granted, very loosely - holding Eddie’s hand.

Okay. This was too much, this was too far. Where was the joke? Eddie didn’t get it, but it had to be a joke, right? The other option was - Eddie wouldn’t even entertain the idea. He could feel his face turning pink, the silence suddenly unbearable. 

“Eddie,” Richie said, as though hearing Eddie’s thoughts. His voice was so sincere that Eddie felt himself flush fully, because this was not a joke voice. It was not a Richie Tozier Gets Off A Good One voice, or a Voice in general - it was just Richie, real as he so infrequently was. 

And he’d said “Eddie”. Not “Eds”, not “Spaghetti” - just “Eddie”. He rarely ever did that, and it made Eddie’s stomach drop through the hammock and right down into the dirt of the earth beneath them. 

Richie tightened his grip on Eddie’s hand slightly, finally breaking eye contact for just a moment to flick his eyes downwards and then back up. Eddie felt like a deer caught in the headlights, and then - oh god, holy fuck, was this for real? - Richie shifted ever so slightly so he was leaning forwards, making a space between his own knees that Eddie knew he could lean between. 

Holy shit. _Holy shit._

Eddie watched, paralyzed, as Richie continued to move ever so slightly, still holding his hand. He glanced down again, shifting his weight onto the hand not holding Eddie’s, getting closer, and—

Eddie woke up with a gasp, his heart pounding. His blanket and sheet were a tangled mess around his legs, and he could feel a sheen of sweat clinging to them. There was no haze of sleep around him, though; in fact, he’d never felt more awake than he did in that moment. His heart hammering was in his chest, eyes staring wide at the ceiling illuminated by the bright light coming through his window. 

“Oh my god,” he breathed, letting his eyes close and dropping his head back into his pillow. 

That was...ridiculous. Jesus, this was unbearable. The whole mess was taking over every inch of his life, even seeping into his sleep. Ben had written about dreams in some of his poetry, but Eddie thought he got it wrong - where was the waking up with a pounding heart, feeling like you’ve barely slept? It was mortifying and physically tolling all at once. 

He supposed that this was what he got for falling asleep being all mushy and thinking about Richie. He wouldn’t make _that_ mistake again; only thinking about math class before bed from now on, he decided.

After taking a minute to slow his heart rate down, Eddie reached his hands up and rubbed his eyes. It was bright out - too bright to be early in the morning, and a glance at the clock told him he was right. It was after ten, somehow, and yet Eddie still felt exhausted. He sighed, kicking his legs in a weak attempt to disentangle himself from his sheets and blankets. 

The only good thing about it already being so late, it occurred to Eddie, was that he might be able to catch Beverly at the clubhouse. The thought brought his dream back to the forefront of his mind, but that was exactly why he wanted to go; he needed to tell her about how deeply, stupidly screwed he was. Maybe she would make the whole thing feel funny rather than embarrassing. At worst, Eddie was sure she would listen and only make fun of him in the light, loving way that she’d poked fun at his feelings for Richie in general. 

While there was no call from Stan to be had, and Eddie by no means thought his dreams were prophetic, he didn’t want to wait too long to get to the clubhouse. If Bev was gonna be there today, she’d be there early, the way she always was. Who knew when the rest of his friends would get there, and then he would have to keep the dream to himself for another who knows how long. 

The thought made Eddie get up and moving. He was still acutely aware of the fact that he’d woken up sweating, and he decided he could take the time to shower and still get to the clubhouse before the rest of his friends. That decided, he grabbed some clothes and headed for the bathroom. 

He took off his crumpled pajamas and stepped into the hot water, breathing a contented sigh as it washed over his skin. Eddie scrubbed himself clean until he could no longer feel the grossness of sleep clinging to him. He imagined, too, some of his dream slipping off of him and down the drain. It was as though the soap could wash away the embarrassment of such a stupid dream, the memory of the way Richie’s hand had felt in his dripping down the drain with the suds.

Once he felt sufficiently clean and like a proper human being again, Eddie turned off the shower. He toweled off quickly and stepped into his clean clothes, his hair getting pressed awkwardly against his forehead when he tugged his shirt on. He rubbed a small spot in the steam on the mirror so he could see his reflection, using his fingers to make his hair look as decent as possible. After brushing his teeth, Eddie left the bathroom and made his way back to his room.

He tossed the pajamas in the hamper, then stopped in front of his mirror again. Fidgeting with his hair anymore was a useless instinct, and he wasn’t wearing anything that actually required him to look in the mirror. Just a t-shirt tucked into a pair of shorts, dark jean ones that ended just above his knees. Still, he fussed with how to tuck his shirr in for a few minutes, ran another hand through his wet hair, and then decided that was as good as it was gonna get. 

He was halfway down the stairs before he realized he would have to confront his mother. In the aftermath of his dream, he’d totally forgotten. He felt a sense of deja vu as he recalled how - even though he hadn’t dreamt about talking to his mother - he’d been so sure she would say no. He felt the same sense of surety then, but he also felt acutely aware of the way he’d thought in his dream. 

Dream-Eddie had been right. He deserved to go out, to see his friends. It wasn’t fair to keep him inside, so what if he went out a few days in a row? That was what normal teenagers did! 

Riding on the confidence of his dream, Eddie made his way down the rest of the stairs and found his mother sitting at the kitchen table. 

“Morning,” he said, lingering awkwardly in the doorway.

“Good morning,” she replied cordially, but her eyes were shrewdly taking him in - his wet hair, his fully dressed form. “Going somewhere?” The tone was sweet, but only on the surface. 

Eddie swallowed hard. “Yeah, actually.”

She stared at him, expression stony. “Eddiebear, I don’t think so.”

Eddie hadn’t been expecting this to be as easy as his dream, but he could still feel himself start to get nervous. He didn’t want to fight, and he didn’t want to be a bad son, but he - he didn’t deserve to be kept at home. 

“I do,” he said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt.

There was a beat of silence, and then, “Excuse me?”

“I think I’ll be going out to see my friends,” he said shakily. 

She pursed her lips, a sort of anger beginning to simmer in her face. Eddie could feel his stomach start to to tighten, uneasy in a way that was not at all like the sort of butterfly feeling he got around Richie. This was insidious and came with a cold sweat and an urge to run and hide, but Eddie stood his ground. He heard Richie’s voice in his head from when Eddie had told him he’d finally stood up to his mother - “_That’s awesome - you’re awesome!_” - and felt a sudden surge of confidence.

“You were out yesterday,” she said simply, as though that was reason enough that he should stay home. 

Eddie just shook his head slowly. 

“That doesn’t mean...that I have to stay home. My friends hang out - all the time,” he added. 

He watched his mother’s facial expression shift, could see the gears turning in her head as she sputtered and scrambled for something to say back. He knew this would be a reason he had to stay home, or some sort of guilt inducing comment, and Eddie didn’t want to fight. He was itching to see Bev and to spill about his dream and so - feeling bold from the dream itself - he jumped in before his mother could say anything.

“I don’t want to do this right now,” he said, hoping his voice was firm and not whiny. “I’ll - I’ll be back, and I can stay home tomorrow and watch shows with you or something, but - I deserve this.” He was surprised by how right he felt saying it, and he kept up the brave momentum by passing his mother and going for his shoes. She was simply gaping at him, looking both shocked and angry, but Eddie didn’t stop to engage. If he stopped moving, he thought he might be able to be persuaded to stay, or otherwise swallowed whole by the house and his mother’s will.

So he shoved his feet into his sneakers without botheringvto tie them and yanked open the door, heart pounding. He did not turn around to look at his mother, but he did offer a quiet “Bye, mommy,” as he slipped out the door into the sunshine. 

He didn’t stop moving until he was next to his bike, where he slumped against the outside of his house with a low exhale. Another terrific interaction in the Kaspbrak household, he thought bitterly. 

But there was no time to dwell on it - it was practically eleven, and Eddie wanted to get to the clubhouse as fast as he could. Pausing only to tie his sneakers - he didn’t need to lose his shoe while riding down the street - Eddie rushed his bike away from the house and hopped on. 

As he sped towards the Barrens, Eddie found himself replaying his dream in his mind. It was already getting hazy, he told himself. He just didn’t want to forget what happened before he got to tell Bev. It totally wasn’t an almost pleasant idea, if totally unrealistic and absolutely embarrassing and utterly, stupidly extra. 

Still, Eddie found himself replaying it. His subconscious had done a pretty good job at replicating the sort of dialogue that passed between them. He could totally imagine actual Richie saying some of the stuff that dream Richie had said, though Eddie supposed that was exactly what he had done - imagined it. He didn’t know whether he should feel impressed or embarrassed at how well he knew Richie, and how accurately his brain could create imaginary conversations that sounded real enough to have been memories. 

Eddie decided he could be both at the same time. 

When he got to the Barrens, he was pleasantly surprised to see he’d been right. He dropped his bike next to the one already there: pastel blue and slightly rusted in some places - Bev’s bike. It was the only one there, and Eddie felt a rush of relief. 

He couldn’t get to the clubhouse fast enough, nearly tripping over his own feet as he hurried through the trees. The clubhouse door was closed when he got there - he didn’t wonder too much about it, since sometimes they closed it and sometimes they didn’t. It didn’t mean much of anything. He yanked it open and before he even had both feet on the ladder, he was already starting to talk.

“Bev, holy fuck, you’re not gonna believe this sh—“

Eddie stopped abruptly, turning around after dropping down into the clubhouse in a rush. Bev was there, sitting on a crate - but there was Richie, too, sitting next to her. Both of them looked at him with huge eyes, as though he’d just caught them doing something wrong. Richie made eye contact with Eddie for the briefest of moments, looking away as quickly as he could.

“Um,” Eddie said, face pink. He was, in that moment, extremely glad that he hadn’t gotten any farther into what he’d wanted to share with Bev.

“Hey, Eddie,” Bev said awkwardly, and Eddie didn’t think he’d ever heard her sound so unnatural before. What the fuck was going on?

“What are _you_ doing here?”

Eddie had leveled his gaze at Richie, who was staring at the ground like it was the most interesting thing in the world. He hadn’t mean for the question to come out as accusatory as it had, but this was entirely not what Eddie had been expecting.

“Uh, chilling with my dear friend Beverly?” Richie offered, looking up at Eddie for a split second.

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Where’s your bike?”

“It’s broken. Got a hole in the tire. I walked,” he added, and Eddie wasn’t sure he’d ever heard Richie speak so awkwardly and without a joke for this long. 

“What’s with the interrogation, Eds?” Richie asked, and his tone was strained underneath the grin. Eddie wondered why it mattered. Wasn’t he allowed to ask questions? Was there something that Richie didn’t want him to ask? Eddie was starting to feel a bit dizzy.

“You guys are acting - you’re being weird,” Eddie said, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a breathy rush. It was true: the two of them had clearly been talking, but since Eddie arrived, they were suddenly out of things to say. Richie was still avoiding his gaze and he had his shoulders hunched awkwardly as though to curl in on himself entirely. Bev was looking helplessly between the two of them, seeming extremely uncharacteristically lost in the situation. Eddie was standing at the foot of the ladder, looking on at them both with a slightly sick feeling in his gut. He thought that you’d be able to cut the weird energy in the room with a knife, it was so thick. 

“It’s nothing,” Bev said finally, and she gave Eddie a smile. It seemed to be a little too wide, though, and it did nothing to soothe Eddie’s nerves. 

A thought struck him then, like a horrible insistent whisper in the back of his mind: had they been talking about him?

The sick feeling in his gut was rising, but Eddie wanted to believe he was wrong. They wouldn’t have been, right? It had to be something else. It had to be.

So Eddie simply said, “Uh, okay,” and walked awkwardly over to the crate of comic books. He had to do something now that he was there, and it definitely didn’t seem like it was going to be holding a conversation with Bev and Richie. It _certainly_ wasn’t going to be telling Bev about his dream. So he grabbed a comic at random and then paused, looking around the clubhouse. Richie was still looking away, and Bev was looking at Richie. They both looked guilty.

Great.

Eddie didn’t know if he should sit with them or not. The swing was open, which would put him right next to the two of them. But neither of them would look his way, and he felt like maybe he wasn’t welcome over there at the moment. Which was fine! Totally fine. 

Eddie’s gaze landed on the hammock instead, a comfortable distance away from his pair of friends. He swallowed thickly, recalling his dream. This felt almost like that, but twisted up. He was still wondering why Richie was there, but it was because Eddie had thought he’d be alone. He felt equally awkward, but it wasn’t in the butterfly sort of way he was used to. And he found himself climbing into the hammock, except it was empty this time, no knees knocking together or hands attempting to keep the thing balanced.

Eddie settled in and pulled his knees towards him, balancing the comic book against his legs just as he had in his dream. He did not set his hand on the edge of the hammock, instead keeping in curled in a fist in his lap. He pretended that it didn’t bother him when Richie didn’t come join him. Even though Eddie had clearly made room. Even though that was what they always did. 

The clubhouse stayed silent.

Unlike in his dream, Eddie couldn’t bring himself to focus on the story in front of him. He was too aware of the heavy silence and the weight that was missing from the hammock, and of that voice in the back of his mind that refused to be quiet. A few times, Eddie felt eyes on him while he pretended to read. Looking up, he never caught Richie looking at him - only looking quickly away. The look on his face was something Eddie didn’t know how to read. Somewhere between sick and nervous, if he had to try to describe it. Bev, for her part, caught Eddie’s eye once and gave him a weary smile, but it did little to erase the expression on Richie’s face from Eddie’s mind.

With each passing moment, Eddie felt more nervous. As neither Bev nor Richie talked, Eddie became more self conscious of whatever they had been talking about before. It was impossible not to come to the conclusion that the awkward energy in the clubhouse was his fault, somehow. And if it was his fault - Eddie didn’t want to think about it. Because what else could possibly make Richie look like that, could make him stay so far away from Eddie, could make meeting Eddie’s gaze worse than staring in aimless silence at the ground, except for if he somehow knew...?

Eddie tried to fight the insistent voice that said that was the case, but it was becoming harder and harder. He didn’t want to think that Bev would talk about him, or share his secrets, but what else was there? She’d seemed so sincere, but maybe - maybe that had just been an act, a way of letting him down easy before she told their friends that Eddie had to go. It didn’t sound like Bev, not at all. He knew he should give her more credit than that, but he couldn’t dispel the thought from his mind.

The more he thought about it, the more sure he became that whatever Bev and Richie had been talking about had to do with Eddie, and that it was something neither of them wanted Eddie to know they’d been talking about. That didn’t leave many options, and Eddie felt sick in the silence.

It was like that moment at the quarry, where the invisible wall between himself and his friends was practically tangible. The room was unreadable and heavy and awkward and Eddie wanted to break the wall down and scream, “_What! What is it! Just fucking tell me!_”

Of course he couldn’t actually do that, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to.

The awkwardness stretched on, the space between Eddie and his silent friends unable to be breached. Richie himself started to read a comic book at some point, and Bev seemed to be constantly about to try to say something to break the silence, but unable to come up with anything. The three of them just sat there for who knows how long until Bill, Mike, and Ben came climbing down the ladder.

“Huh-huh-hey guys!” Bill said cheerfully, as though the energy in the clubhouse were not incredibly weird. Ben seemed aware of something going on, observing the distance between Eddie and his friends and the way that it was densely quiet.

Then, as though Eddie had imagined the whole thing, Richie lit up like a Christmas tree and sprang up off of the crate he’d been on.

“Top o’ the morning, my wee friends! Such a deloight to see ya,” he said, boisterous and bright. He grabbed Mike’s hand and shook it vigorously. Mike, for his part, just shook his head slightly and smiled, letting Richie play his part.

“Hey, Beverly,” Ben said, smiling at her around the spectacle Richie was making.

“Hey,” she replied with a sweet smile.

Ben turned his gaze to Eddie, then, the first to do so in a while.

“Hi.” Eddie appreciated the care in his smile, and he did his best to give a normal grin back.

“Hey.”

Richie had finished shaking Mike’s hand, and had also apparently grown bored of his Irish Voice, because when he spoke again he was just himself again.

“Anyone know if Stan the man is coming? I wanna get outta here!”

Eddie took in his words like a hit, consciously aware of how Richie’s demeanor had changed since their other friends had arrived. Not only that, but Richie was never this amped to leave; he liked to lounge around most days, leisurely waiting for plans to arise. This had to be a way of getting away from Eddie, or at least from the feeling in the clubhouse that Eddie had inadvertently created. And Richie still wouldn’t look at him.

“Don’t think so,” Bill said. “On th-the way home yesterday he said he was pretty buh-buh-buh-buh—_fuck!—_busy today.”

Richie let out a dramatic sigh. “He’ll be missed dearly.”

“He’s busy, not dead!” Mike laughed, shoving Richie’s shoulder gently.

“You never know!” Richie exclaimed. “Any of us could be gone at any second!” He snapped his fingers as though to demonstrate his point about mortality. “With _that_ being said, I think we should get a move on. Let’s head into the big city to downtown Derry! I wanna go to Cool Beats,” he finished, looking around expectantly at the rest of his friends - Eddie excluded.

Cool Beats was a sort of catch-all, mostly secondhand pop culture store nestled just off of Main Street in Derry. It mostly sold music - vinyls and cassettes for the most part, but they had some CDs, too. They had books as well, and collectibles of all kinds from comic books to sports teams to old movies. The whole place smelled old, but not in a bad way. The Losers all liked it there, even if they rarely bought anything. The owner didn’t seem to mind when they came in and poked around without spending any money so long as they weren’t too rowdy.

“Sh-sure,” Bill said with a shrug. Ben and Bev made small sounds of agreement, too; that was enough for Richie to head for the ladder.

“Sweet! Went and Maggie gave me a crisp Lincoln for y’know, not flunking out of school yet. And I got a few bucks extra because I bugged them into letting me do chores this week,” he added thoughtfully. “Told ‘em I had to make up for lost time while I was away, y’know? It’s practically begging to be spent!”

He had climbed up the ladder during this one-sided conversation. Bill followed, then Mike. Ben waited for Bev to get up before he, too, followed. Eddie was still in the hammock, painfully aware of how much Richie had said, and how not a single word had been to him. 

Bev seemed to want to say something, but Eddie was in no mood to hear it. If what he thought was right, he had every right not to talk to her. Maybe it wasn’t fair, but Eddie was feeling a dangerous combination of anger and nausea and the sort of hurt that you could feel all in your body. He knew if he wasn’t angry, he’d tip into embarrassingly upset, and he couldn’t let that happen.

So, turning the tables, Eddie refused to look at Beverly. He pushed himself out of the hammock with a huff and shoved in front of her to the ladder, skirting away from the hand that was just slightly raised in his direction. He didn’t wait for her at the top, either, speeding away from the clubhouse and its stupid invisible walls and conversations Eddie wasn’t supposed to know about.

When he got to the place where they’d dumped all their bikes, his other friends were already standing with their’s leaning on their hips. Richie was practically bouncing with energy, and Eddie pushed down the knowledge that Richie hadn’t been like that at all earlier when it was just he and Eddie and Bev. 

Speaking of, she got there just a minute after Eddie. If Eddie could feel her gaze on him, he ignored it completely as he grabbed his bike. 

“Lemme ride double, Big Bill,” Richie said, bouncing on his toes. “My bike’s got a flat,” he explained, as though Bill would say no. It wasn’t uncommon for Richie to ride double on Silver, and Bill agreed without any issue. 

“Sweet!”

Richie hopped onto the package carrier that Bill had added to Silver just for this reason, and with a little shove, he and Bill were off. The rest of them followed, chattering back and forth as they went. Eddie pedaled in silence. 

It wasn’t an exceptionally far ride to Cool Beats, and the six of them were there before they knew it. They parked their bikes outside and headed in, the cool indoor air pleasant after their bike ride in the sun. 

“Hey, kids,” the owner greeted them from behind the counter with a smile. 

“Hi, Wayne,” Ben replied sweetly, always good with adults. Wayne had asked them to call him by his first name the first time they came into the shop, which had delighted all the Losers. He was a pleasant man, a little over their parents age, and he’d grown to know the Losers well enough that sometimes he pulled things for them as they came in. 

This was one of those days, apparently, because he said, “Oh, we got a box of poetry in the other day.” It was directed at Ben, who lit up excitedly. 

“Oh—! Can I look through?” 

“Sure can,” Wayne said amicably. “I’ll show you where it is.”

And so they started to split up in the store: Ben followed Wayne to the poetry, Beverly wandered towards the section that Eddie knew held classic novels, Bill made his way towards the comic books. Mike headed for the vinyls, being one of the only two Losers to actually have a record player at home (Bill was the second, as much as Richie tried to convince his parents to get him one). Eddie decided to follow Mike, knowing that Richie would probably be heading over to the cassettes on the other side of the store to spend the money he’d gotten from his parents.

Mike made a beeline for the section labelled “BLUES”, flipping through the vinyls there. Eddie ambled over to the section labelled “POP”. He flicked though the cardboard sleeves without paying much attention. It wasn’t like he had a record player, or the sort of money to buy vinyls just for kicks. It was still fun to leaf through and find the ones that he recognized, though. 

They were all arranged in alphabetical order, and by the time Eddie got to the H section, he was feeling better than he had all day. There was nothing to think about except the albums in front of him, and he was finally able to shove his suspicions about Richie and Bev’s conversation out of his mind. It was peaceful in the store, just the sound of a record being played quietly behind the counter and the shuffling of products. 

That is, until he saw Richie coming his way. 

Eddie felt his heartbeat pick up slightly, but he decided just to ignore Richie. If there was a chance he was coming to look at vinyl, he’d probably go for rock anyways, so nothing to worry about. 

Richie stopped at the section right next to Eddie, only a few feet away from him. 

Eddie was both nervous and angry - what was Richie playing at? He was gonna ignore Eddie all morning, and then, what, bother him when he was finally able to forget all of his worry about what exactly was going on with them? It was a dick move, so Eddie resolutely decided that two could play at that game. Looking through the R section, ironically, Eddie steadfastly did not look at Richie. Not even when he could feel Richie looking at him, could see Richie in his periphery watching him. He even ignored Richie’s uncharacteristic cough as an attempt to get Eddie’s attention.

Finally, Richie gave up trying to be subtle and spoke.

“Hey,” he said. It was awkward. Eddie did not look over to where Richie stood in front of the T section, hand tracing the edge of a cardboard sleeve. 

“Hi,” Eddie replied curtly, pretending to be fascinated with the album in front of him, even though he didn’t even recognize the artist. 

“Um,” Richie said, awkwardly, and Eddie wondered what he was thinking. Was his hesitation because he could feel the waves of irritation rolling off of Eddie, or because of what he might’ve learned from Bev? The question made Eddie’s gut twist. 

“Did you listen to the mix I made you before I left?”

Eddie froze, then turned to face Richie.

Richie wasn’t looking directly at him, his eyes flicking around to look at anything other than Eddie’s own eyes. In his hands was an album - Eddie read the title: “Songs from the Big Chair”. It was by Tears for Fears, and Eddie knew at least _one_ of the songs on the album.

He remembered listening to the mixtape Richie was asking about and nearly bursting into flames at the very same song. Head Over Heels started to play in his mind, unbidden, and Eddie was suddenly, furiously sure that this was a cruel joke on Richie’s part. He knew, he _knew_, and he was making fun of Eddie. Eddie was suddenly so sure of it that he felt sick.

“No, don’t think so,” he mumbled, and then he shoved past Richie and away from the vinyls. He didn’t see the way Richie’s face fell, or the way that he gazed at the vinyl in his hands with a sigh before putting it back. 

Eddie didn’t care where he went - he wasn’t gonna buy anything, anyways. He just didn’t want to be anywhere near Richie.

He saw Bev, sitting on a stool at the end of a shelf flipping through a novel. He didn’t want to see her, either. 

Instead, he continued on until he ran into Ben, on the floor looking through a box of what Eddie assumed were books of poetry. 

“Oh! Hey,” Ben said, startled by Eddie’s angry gait. He could clearly feel that Eddie was upset, but he could also tell that Eddie didn’t want to talk. Ben was good like that, and Eddie was grateful.

Silently, Eddie sat down on the floor next to Ben. 

After watching him for a few minutes, Eddie broke the silence. 

“What are you looking for?”

Ben paused, a book open in his hands. 

“I dunno. Whatever like, speaks to me I guess? It’s hard to put my finger on exactly what makes me like a poem. I like the romantic stuff,” he said, as though Eddie didn’t know that already. 

“I’m sick of romance. It’s everywhere - in music, in the movies, whatever! And I think...I think maybe it’s all crap!” Eddie declared, leaning back on his hands with a huff.

Ben observed Eddie, turning to look at him fully. Eddie had two little patches of color on his cheeks, though whether that was from his frustration or something else, Ben didn’t know. Eddie was staring up at the ceiling, and his face was a unique balance of hurt and anger and pure feeling. It almost made Ben want to whip out a pen to try to capture the vulnerability of the look with words, but he refrained. That wasn’t what Eddie needed. 

“I hope not,” Ben said plainly. “I think it’s real - love, I mean. I just think maybe...it’s not always like what we see in movies and stuff, y’know?” He spoke carefully, not wanting to say anything that would set Eddie off. Ben didn’t want to make any assumptions, but seeing as Eddie had never been one to talk about romance before, Ben had to assume something was going on. Out of respect, he didn’t allow himself to question what that might be. He just tried to say what he thought might be reassuring to Eddie in that moment. 

Eddie sighed. 

“I guess. It just seems like maybe even if it’s real, it’s still crap. Because I mean, we don’t live in a movie. Love doesn’t always work, does it?” 

Eddie turned to look at Ben with wide, open eyes, and Ben again wished he could capture the look on Eddie’s face in a poem. Maybe later he would try. 

It was sweet of Eddie to think that Ben would know the answers to the things he was wondering. Ben didn’t know, really, but he wasn’t ashamed of his reputation for being a romantic, so he did his best to answer anyways.

“I guess not. But sometimes, isn’t it enough just to love? Like, I dunno, I think there’s something good about loving, even if you don’t get that love back.” Ben glanced over towards the bookshelves where he knew Bev was sitting.

Eddie recognized that the answer was from personal experience, and he blew out a low breath. He guessed Ben had a point. 

“Yeah,” was all he said, and the two of them fell back into natural silence. 

Wayne came and found them after a bit, letting them know that the rest of their friends were about to wait outside, and that they should probably finish up if they were all planning on leaving together. 

“Thank you,” Ben said politely. He’d picked out three books, and he put the rest back into the box. Following Wayne to the the front, with Eddie trailing behind him, Ben made his way to the counter. Wayne glanced at the three books that Ben had, then punched a few things into the register. 

“That’ll be two fifty,” he said, and Ben gaped at him. 

“But - there’s three books there,” he pointed out.

Wayne had already slid two of the books into the bag. “Like I said - two fifty.” He winked at Ben, lifting the last book and placing it in the bag without looking inside. 

“Thanks,” Ben said, his face glowing. 

“Sure thing, kid,” Wayne replied with a smile. He took Ben’s three dollars and gave him two quarters in change, pushing the bag across the counter. “Enjoy that poetry,” he added.

“I will!” 

With a little wave at Wayne, Eddie followed Ben out of the store. Bill, Mike, and Bev were chatting by their bikes. Bill was the only one among them holding a bag. 

“What’d ya find?” Eddie asked, feeling much more calm after his discussion with Ben. 

Bill turned to him. “Oh! He huh-huh-had some old Spiderman comics,” he said, shaking the bag on his wrist. “Didn’t have ‘em yet,” he added, smiling excitedly.

“You better let me check ‘em out,” Eddie said, smiling back. 

Bill just nodded, like it was a given, then turned to Ben. 

“What about you?”

“Just got some poetry books,” he said, raising the bag slightly. “Wayne gave me a deal.”

“Nice!” Mike interjected, grinning. 

Eddie felt almost back to normal, almost relaxed and happy, and then Ben said, “Where’s Richie?”

Eddie stopped, feeling the familiar thrum of emotion that he’d been experiencing all day. He almost wanted someone to say Richie had gone home, but no such luck.

“Dunno,” Bill replied. “Said he’d be back in a minute, though.”

Ben just hummed in reply, moving towards his bike. Eddie did the same.

And sure enough, just a few minutes later, there was Richie. He was carrying a white plastic bag, though Eddie couldn’t see what was inside, and he seemed out of breath as he approached them. 

“Sorry,” he wheezed. “Had to get something. You guys ready to go?”

“We were waiting on _you,_” Mike said teasingly, to which Richie creatively replied by flipping him off. 

“Alright, let’s go,” Mike laughed, swinging a leg over his bike. The rest of the Losers followed suit, Richie hopping onto the back of Bill’s bike again, and they were off. Eddie listened to his friends chatter as they went, talking about nothing at all. He watched Richie on the back of Bill’s bike with a critical eye. Richie leaned forward and said something in Bill’s ear, to which Bill just nodded. The sun was glinting on Richie’s hair, blowing back from his face as he and Bill sped down the street on Silver.

It was, frustratingly, impossible to look at Richie and feel something simple. Eddie was afraid and angry and hurt because there was that lingering possibility that wouldn’t go away that Bev had told Richie, and that meant Richie was making fun of him. _And_ that Eddie should probably go into witness protection and flee Derry because truthfully, he couldn’t imagine anything worse than Richie knowing - and hating him for it.

But there was no proof that Bev had done so, except for the fact that Eddie had excellently killed their conversation just by walking into the clubhouse, which - what else could that mean? What else would they have been talking about that Eddie wasn’t allowed to her? Why did they look so guilty, and why wouldn’t Richie look at him, and—

Eddie blew out a puff of breath, trying not to spiral out of control. He still felt like maybe he was right, and he didn’t want to be. The thought made him sick, but that wasn’t all he felt. Even though he had all of that weighing on him, he still looked at Richie and felt - well, he felt nice, almost. Like a warm breeze, like the way that you feel on a roller coaster before a drop. How much of the sort of flipping in his stomach was because he liked and Richie and how much was because it was possible that Richie hated him now, he didn’t know.

When Bill stopped before the Barrens, the rest of the Losers stopped, too. 

“Duh-do you guys wanna go to the field instead?” 

Bill glanced at Richie just for a moment, and Eddie knew that this must have been what Richie asked Bill while he was riding double. Why, Eddie didn’t know - surely this couldn’t be because of him, right? 

To avoid letting himself find a way to connect those two dots, Eddie said, “Sure,” and dropped his bike in the grass. It was awkward and harsh and he pretended like he didn’t notice. 

The field was a grassy, bright space near the river and the Kissing Bridge where they sometimes went and sat on sunny days. There was a sort of flattened out part with a makeshift circle of various things to sit on - almost like a fire pit, with rocks and logs as benches arranged in a circle. It was nice, when they wanted to get out from the clubhouse.

The rest of the Losers agreed, too, and moments later they were wading through the knee high waves of grass towards the little flat ring. 

Bill sat down first, and Mike sat next to him. Bev sat on the opposite side of the circle. Richie sat next to her. Eddie opted to sit next to Bill rather than Richie, though he could feel Richie watching him as he sat down. Stan sat next to him, and Ben closed their circle between Richie and Mike. 

There was a quiet moment then, none of them speaking in the warm summer sun. 

Richie, of course, broke it. 

“Well, lady and gentlemen, have I sure got something special for you today!” He was loud in the quiet, booming out in what he called his Radio Announcer Voice. He pulled out the white plastic bag, which Eddie had all but forgotten about, and tipped it upside down into the center of the circle. 

Out tumbled a variety of snacks - a bag of chips, a package of Sno-Balls, some Pixy Stix, a Butterfinger, a box of Nerds, and a handful of various bulk wrapped candies. 

Mike let out a low whistle. 

“Damn, Richie, you win the lottery at camp or something?”

“Oh yeah, Mikey,” Richie said smoothly, shoving the bag back into his pocket. “I’m loaded now, so I’ll be moving out to my mansion in California soon.”

Stan rolled his eyes as Mike laughed good naturedly. 

“Seriously, though, wuh-wuh-what’s with this? Did you ruin our comic books or something?” Bill was looking at Richie with one eyebrow raised, suspicious.

Richie acted wounded, placing one hand on his chest.

“Why, Billiam, how could you! Am I not allowed to simply be a kind and generous person to my friends, whom I care for deeply?” 

Bill rolled his eyes. “Sure, but since w-when _are_ you?”

Still, he reached into the middle and snagged the bag of chips. He tore it open and popped one in his mouth, then said - slightly muffled - “Thanks, Rich.”

“My pleasure,” Richie said, giving a mock little bow.

The other Losers followed suit, grabbing at the snacks in the middle and passing them around. After a totally expected comment from Richie about Stanley choosing the box of Nerds, all of them sat munching on snacks.

All except for Eddie, who wasn’t feeling particularly like eating junk food, especially not that Richie had bought. He just felt too conflicted about everything, and it didn’t seem like stuffing himself with sugar and crap would help. 

Richie seemed to notice this, making eye contact with Eddie for the first time in a while. He drew his brows slightly together as though to ask “The hell’s up with you?”, and Eddie fought back the urge to scream “You know! You know what’s up with me!”

Instead, he just gave a little shrug and a tight lipped smile before looking away, anywhere other than Richie. 

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Richie said, his voice full of forced casualness. Eddie didn’t look, but he heard the crackling of plastic come from Richie’s direction. “Think fast, Eds!”

And then something hit Eddie in the shin.

He blinked, looking down at the yellow package that was sitting in the grass in front of him. Eddie reached down and turned it over - it was a bag of Sour Patch Kids. Eddie looked up at Richie, who looked both embarrassed and hopeful. It felt like a peace offering; it was Eddie’s favorite candy, and Richie knew that.

Eddie wondered if maybe it was him who’d been the asshole all along. After all, he had no way of knowing what Richie and Bev had been saying, suspicious as it was. And if it wasn’t what Eddie had assumed, then he’d been acting like a giant asshole all day. He felt suddenly bad for the whole affair, and despite his lingering fear, he shot Richie a grateful grin. 

“Thanks,” he said simply, to which Richie smiled brightly back. He seemed to straighten up, like a weight lifted off of his shoulders. Eddie hoped he’d been wrong all day, and that everything was fine now. He tried to believe it was. 

“Course,” Richie replied. “Sour and then sweet, just like you!” Richie winked at Eddie, and Eddie felt the familiar fear that this might be mockery and not just Richie’s usual banter.

“Right,” Eddie answered, strained, but he ripped open the package anyways. 

After a while, the group started into full conversation. Between bites of the snacks Richie had provided, they somehow found their way to the topic of school.

“Ugh, gross, Ben!” Richie groaned, miming throwing up. “It’s summertime! Don’t make me think about..._school_.” He whispered the last word while pulling a sour face.

“You’re such a drama queen,” Bev laughed, poking Richie in the side. “This is like, the best time to talk about school, since we don’t actually have to go back for months.”

“Sounds like some bull logic to me,” Richie said, nose scrunched up like he smelled something rotten. 

“Deal with it,” Bev said pleasantly. “Ben, please, talk more about school; maybe it’ll shut Richie up.”

“You’re a bunch of nerds!” Richie exclaimed, but Bev ignored him.

Ben seemed pleasantly surprised at being addressed and being asked to continue talking, so much so that he seemed to forget what exactly it was he’d been saying.

“Oh! I, um...” He trailed off, slightly flushed under Bev’s gaze.

Stan, with a roll of his eyes, swept in to save the day. 

“So, what book is the summer project you were talking about?”

“Oh! Right,” Ben said happily. “Yeah, we have to read The Scarlet Letter for AP Comp. I got it from the library and started it like last week, it sort of sucks—“

“Seriously, Ben, you know it’s only July, right?” Richie interjected, looking as though he was genuinely wondering about his friend’s awareness of the date.

“Yeah, but I mean, I don’t wanna leave it too late, y’know?” 

Richie scoffed, leaning back on his hands. “Benny boy, I am the absolute master of leaving things until the last second and lemme tell you, it’s way more fun.”

“Oh yuh-yeah? And what A-A-A-AP classes are you taking, Rich?” Bill asked. He was also taking AP Comp, Richie knew, and had probably also started the assigned reading.

“Let’s see,” Richie said, squinting up into the air. “AP Physics, AP Calc, AP US....”as he listed each one, he marked it on his fingers. “Oh, and AP Comp,” he finished, grinning cheekily. 

Bill looked surprised, mouth slightly ajar. Before he could say anything, Bev beat him to it.

“And you call _us_ nerds, Jesus, Rich!” Bev said, laughing. “What the hell are you taking all of those for?” 

Richie shrugged. “Eh, for fun? And it’s not like they’re gonna be hard,” he added. 

“I huh-huh-hate you,” Bill said. “I really do.”

“AP Calc for fun - seriously, Rich, we call you crazy, but I think maybe you’ve really cracked,” Mike added. 

Richie just shrugged again, but he was grinning.

Eddie wasn’t surprised at all at Richie’s list of courses - as much as he liked to joke around, Richie was _smart_. Like, really smart. Eddie was only in AP French and AP Calc, and be already knew he’d be turning to Richie for help in the latter course consistently over the year. His mother had insisted he take it, for some reason; she thought French was frivolous, and would only agree to his taking it if he balanced it out with a math course.

Still, Richie seemed embarrassed at the attention on his academic side, and he loudly closed the topic.

“Anyways, who cares about classes! That’s not what matters,” he added, smiling brightly. 

“And what,” Stan asked, raising an eyebrow, “does matter, then?”

Richie looked like Stan had grown a second head, eyes huge and incredulous behind his glasses.

“Uh, newsflash Staniel! We’re upperclassmen now! We get to like, shove freshmen into lockers and stuff,” he said confidently.

“The only reason you aren’t _still_ getting shoved into lockers,” Stan replied, “is because you’re too tall to fit.”

“Alright, touché,” Richie ceded. “But still! We’re moving up in the world! And hey, we can go to prom this year!” Richie did a horrible little attempt at a dance move where he was sitting.

“You care about prom?”

It was the first thing Eddie had said in a while, and Richie blinked at him in surprise. 

“Yeah, Rich, I wouldn’t have thought that was your scene,” Ben said, not unkindly. 

“C’mon! I can’t be a Loser and still wanna go bust a move with my friends?” Richie demanded, looking around the circle.

“If you say ‘bust a move’ in casual conversation again, I’m pretty sure you won’t have anyone at all to go to prom with,” Stan said drily. 

Richie just rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I already have a date for prom, anyways.”

“Who?” Eddie demanded, not thinking. If he had stopped for even a second, he would’ve clearly seen the bit he was walking into. 

“Why, the lovely Missus K, of course!” Richie said, slipping into the British Guy Voice. “We’ll dance the night away, it’ll be positively dr—“

“Alright, alright,” Eddie grumbled, berating himself for not realizing where Richie was going with the conversation. “That’s enough.”

A spark seemed to light in Richie’s eyes then, and there was suddenly a shift in the energy in the group that set Eddie on edge. He couldn’t tell why - it felt almost the way the sky feels before a storm, the anticipation before the impact. 

And then Richie opened his mouth, and there it was.

“No need to be jealous, Eds.”

“What?” Eddie sputtered, caught off guard. Richie was looking right at him with a specific sort of grin. “You’re delusi—“

“Come on, then! Be my date to the prom!” He threw a wink in at the end, and Eddie felt himself start to redden. This was bad, this was bad and Eddie didn’t know what to do—

“Richie, it’s - it’s not for a year, this is so fucking stupid - why do you even care about prom?” Eddie demanded again, feeling uncomfortably warm. He realized that the rest of their friends were watching the two of them, the way they always did when he and Richie squabbled. Usually it was all in good fun; Richie and Eddie both leaned into it, making it a bit of a spectacle for their friends benefit as well as their own.

But this time, Eddie felt out of the loop. 

“Well, you caught me,” Richie said with a dramatic sigh. “I only care about the prom because I wanna have a Kaspbrak on my arm. Doesn’t _have_ to be your mom, although—“

“Richie—!”

Eddie was starting to feel a little nauseous. The grin on Richie’s face felt strange, somehow different than his usual expression when he was having a good tike riling Eddie up. 

Suddenly, Eddie’s fear from earlier came crushing back in full force. If Richie knew....if Bev had told him...

“Can’t you guys just picture it?” Richie was turning the conversation to the rest of the group. Eddie felt sick as Richie continued, showing no sign of stopping. “Me, dressed to the nines, little Dr. K here all dolled up, arm in arm - can you say prom kings or what?”

Ben seemed amused; Mike was shaking his hed. Stan was looking at Richie with narrowed eyes, as though he couldn’t quite tell which part was supposed to be funny. And Bev - Bev was looking at Eddie, eyes wide. 

“Richie, c’mon,” she said like a warning, but Richie wasn’t done.

“They’ll play all the hits! We can slow dance and everything, I’ll let you lead!” Richie had turned back to Eddie, his smile still out in full force.

“Shut up, Richie,” Eddie said, trying to act like he was just annoyed and not halfway to being sick. Because really, he felt like he was about to lose it - this was too much to be a coincidence, and for Richie to be what, making fun of Eddie in front of everyone? To bring this up like - like it was a joke? It wasn’t even a good bit, and no one was laughing, so why did he keep pushing it?

The only thing that made sense, to Eddie, was that it wasn’t just a bit; it was a not so subtle jab. The bit wasn’t the joke - Eddie was, even if only three of them knew it. 

“We can—“ Richie continued, not heeding Eddie’s request for him to shut his mouth.

“Stop—!” Eddie said sharply, and if Richie’s smile faltered, it was only for a moment. Eddie though maybe Richie would give up the bit - all their friends were still watching, had to be realizing, had to be seeing it all. And yet, even Eddie’s totally sincere, unjoking request went unheeded, and Richie plowed on.

“C’mon,” he said, winking. “We all know you wanna get with this.” 

It was too much. It was one thing to make fun of Eddie in a way that only Eddie would recognize, to push him away or to ignore him, but this was - this was blatant. This was cruel, crueler than anything Eddie had ever expected when he’d told Bev about his feelings just a few days prior. He felt sick, and suddenly too hot, and like he was about to lose his cool—

“_Fuck you, Richie_!”

The words exploded from Eddie’s mouth without his intending for them to. At the same time, he shoved himself up into a standing position. He could just see the smile slip off of Richie’s face as he turned and stalked away, heading towards his bike. 

He could hear someone - Bev, he thought, tell the rest of them to let him go.

Good, Eddie thought. He was sure he would either start screaming or crying at the next person who tried to talk to him, and he wasn’t in the mood to deal with the aftermath of either.

It wasn’t like he’d been laboring under the delusion that this - this whole thing would work out. This was fucking Derry, after all, Eddie thought murderously. Of course this wouldn’t fucking end well! He wasn’t expecting for he and Richie to ride off into the sunset. But if he was being honest, he’d never expected this, either - not for Bev to do what she’d promised not to, not for Richie to make the same sort of jokes Eddie had been hearing from people like Henry Bowers his whole life, not for—

“Hey! Hey, Eds!”

Eddie pretended he didn’t hear Richie, speeding up towards the pile of bikes. If he could just get his bike—

“_Eds_.” Richie’s voice was more insistent, and Eddie felt a hand around his arm, stopping him in his tracks.

“What!” Eddie spat, whipping his arm out of Richie’s grip and turning to face him. Richie blanched at Eddie’s tone, taking a half step backwards.

“What’s going on?”

Eddie almost laughed. “Oh, as if you don’t know,” he said, rolling his eyes without humor. 

“I really, really don’t,” Richie replied, a tinge of anger seeping into his own tone. “So if you could stop acting like an asshole for one second today and—“

“Oh, I’m an asshole? _I’m_ an asshole?” Eddie was fuming, face red. 

“Yeah!” Richie snapped. “You’re sort of being a dick, okay! You have been all day, since this morning—“

“Oh, you wanna talk about this morning! Fine! Let’s talk about it! You go first,” Eddie shot back. “How about you tell me why the fuck you and Bev were talking about me?”

Richie froze, face going pale. 

“What?”

“I’m not a fucking idiot, Richie! I can put it together - all the fucking weird silence, you not looking at me - or looking at me like I was making you sick - of course you were talking about me!”

Eddie was off and running now, his words spilling out without any thought at all. Richie looked pale in the face of Eddie’s red hot anger, eyes wide. 

“Eds, I—“

“You probably thought it was so fucking funny when Bev told you, huh?”

“When - what?” 

“I can’t believe I told her,” Eddie said, mostly to himself. “And I can’t believe she told _you_,” he added, glaring at Richie.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Richie said, almost pleading. “I swear, we weren’t—“ He stopped, swallowing hard. 

“Yeah, what, you weren’t talking about me? Sure, what fucking ever! And I’m sure that whole prom bit back there was just a coincidence, right? Totally didn’t have anything to do with whatever top goddamn secret conversations you two were having, huh? With what Bev told you?”

”What are you _talking_ about—“

“Fine! You wanna hear me say it? It’s not enough to joke about it in front of everyone?” Eddie felt like he was going to throw up, but he couldn’t stop himself. It was all too much, spilling out without anywhere to go or anything to stop it. “When she told you that I _like_ you! When Bev said, ‘Hey, Richie, get a load of this: Eddie’s got it bad for you, isn’t that fucking hysterical?’”

Richie froze again, eyes wide. He looked like he’d been struck, but Eddie wasn’t stopping. 

“And them I’m sure you both had a good fucking laugh, and you started cracking jokes right then and there, right? Really, good on you for keeping them in until now,” Eddie said. “I’m sure it was so fucking hard not to use your new material,” he spat.

“Eds,” Richie said, looking like he too might throw up.

“But you really got off a good one back there,” Eddie continued, barely even pausing to breathe. “Fucking hilarious, really!”

“_Eds_—”

“And y’know what, while we’re at it, you got anymore jokes you wanna throw out there? I mean, I’m a fucking walking joke, right? How much funnier can it get? Come see the asthmatic gay kid for a quarter, it’s a fucking riot!“

Richie opened his mouth to speak, but Eddie wasn’t having it.

“_No_!” Eddie exclaimed, plowing ahead. “I get it, alright? Don’t even - I don’t wanna fucking hear it—“

“_Eddie_, I—“

“Beep beep, Richie!” Eddie all but yelled. “Beep fucking be—mmph!”

Richie had moved fast, and his face pressed to Eddie’s with enough force that Eddie almost lost his balance. It wasn’t romantic, the kiss - Richie was pressung his hands to Eddie’s cheeks awkwardly, their faces were smushed together, Richie’s glasses were poking Eddie’s face, and Eddie’s eyes were wide open. But it was a kiss, nevertheless, and Eddie was so shocked that his angry yelling died in his throat.

A moment later, when the shock wore off, Eddie shoved his fists against Richie’s chest and pushed him away.

“What the fuck,” Eddie breathed, glaring. 

Richie blinked, as though he was just as surprised as Eddie.

“What the fuck!” Eddie repeated angrily. 

“I - I don’t know,” Richie said dumbly, face pink. 

Eddie gaped at him, caught between rage and the aftershock of what had occurred. For once, Richie seemed to be at a loss for words, so Eddie started up again.

“Do you seriously - do you still think this is funny? Ha fucking ha, I’m laughing, you’re fucking cracking me up—“

“Eddie, no, I—“ Richie closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath. Something about his tone made Eddie snap his mouth shut, suddenly feeling incredibly lost. It was easy to be pissed, to be raging. But there was something in the way Richie said his name - his real name, not a nickname - that made Eddie’s anger stop in its tracks.

“Just - let me talk?” 

Richie’s voice was quiet, eyes still closed. He looked pale and dazed, as caught off guard as Eddie felt.

“Fine.”

“I’m not - it’s not funny, okay?” Richie had opened his eyes and was nervously looking at Eddie, weighing each word carefully so as not to send Eddie running away or screaming at him again. “I wasn’t...I wasn’t trying to make fun of you, Eddie. I would never—“

“Well, you sort of fucking did, Richie,” Eddie cut in sourly, but he was no longer yelling.

“It wasn’t—ugh! Just - okay,” Richie seemed, uncharacteristically, as though almost unable to speak. The words came out of his mouth slowly, like they were sticking in his throat. He switched tactics, swallowing hard. 

“We _were_ talking about you, okay?” 

Eddie blinked, lost at the change in direction. When it hit him what Richie meant, he felt the same spark of anger that had sent him raging before. 

“I fucking knew it—!”

“_But_,” Richie interjected, speaking over Eddie with a pleading note in his voice, “it wasn’t...what you think.” Richie’s face was pink, and Eddie felt his own face turning a similar shade as he realized that in the heat of his anger, he’d directly told Richie that he liked him.

Oh, _fuck_. I mean, Richie knew now - had already probably known, right? He and Bev _had_ been talking about Eddie, so it was probably already out there...still, Eddie felt sick. 

“—and that’s, like, why we stopped when you came in.”

Eddie blinked at Richie, who looked extremely vulnerable. 

“What?”

“Really?” Richie asked, exasperated. “I gotta - I have to do that again?”

Eddie grimaced a little, then said, “Sorry, I just—“

“I like you, okay? That’s what Bev and I were talking about, and that’s why we shut up when you came down, and why I couldn’t look at you, and she - _she_ didn’t tell me anything,” he said, the words tumbling out in a harried rush. He was watching Eddie expectantly, hopefully.

“Wait,” Eddie said, his mind reeling. 

So if Bev hadn’t told Richie - that meant Eddie had just, what, confessed? On his own? Jesus fuck that was just his _luck_—

“Um, Eddie?” 

Richie was looking at him, nervous and uncharacteristically quiet. Eddie felt like his mind was going a thousand miles an hour

“Is this a bit, Richie, because I swear to—“

“God, Eds, you’re - no! _No_! It’s not, okay? I just really, really like you, and I have for a while, and I swear on my comic collection that I wouldn’t do a bit about this right now, okay?”

Richie was looking at Eddie with huge eyes, breathing heavily. He seemed so desperate, so open, and Eddie suddenly felt like he’d passed the point on the rollercoaster where you’re waiting to drop and instead was plummeting down at breakneck speed.

Without stopping to question or think, Eddie bridged the small distance between the two of them. Richie watched him as he did so, and he might’ve continued watching, but Eddie wouldn’t have known; as soon as he was close enough, Eddie put a hand on Richie’s shoulder and pulled himself up. He closed his eyes.

This kiss was no less awkward - Eddie had no idea how to kiss people in general, let alone how the hell to kiss Richie. But Richie didn’t push him away, and when Eddie pulled back, Richie’s eyes were trained on him. 

“So...”

He blinked, eyes wide behind his glasses. 

“So.” Eddie replied, face hot. 

They looked at each other, inches apart, and then Richie started to laugh. 

It started small, a little grin slipping onto his face, and grew until his head was thrown back and his eyes were squeezed shut. 

“What? What is it?” 

Eddie didn’t know why Richie was laughing, but he found himself laughing too. Just a little stifled giggle at first, but before long he too was full body laughing, feeling free and warm and right.

“It’s just—“ Richie said finally, through fits of laughter. “You’re so _stupid_,” he got out, then he was laughing again. 

“What?” Eddie exclaimed. “I am - I am not!” But he was still laughing because Richie was laughing, and because _holyshit_, he kissed Richie? And told Richie he likes him? And Richie said—

“You guys call _me_ a motormouth,” Richie said breathlessly, “but you totally have me beat!” Before Eddie could say anything, Richie was launching into a Voice that Eddie recognized well to be his own. “‘I’m so angry so I’m gonna tell you I like you and you were talking about me so you were making fun of me and you better shut up because — beep beep!’” He finished giddily, comically out of breath. And even though Eddie knew he was actually the joke this time, Richie was right - it was funny. So when Richie dissolved into peals of laughter at the ridiculousness of the situation, so did Eddie.

“But!” Eddie interjected between fits of laughing, “what else was I - was I supposed to think?” Eddie was no good at Voices - even worse than Richie’s worst ones - but he launched into an equivalent imitation of Richie anyways. 

“Oh, lemme just not look at you and not sit with you and then act all weird all morning, because I’m smooth like that! And then I’ll joke about prom and a date and act like an idiot! Definitely no way this could be read wrong,” Eddie finished, gasping for breath.

Richie, still laughing, shook his head. “I was - I was trying to - Bev told me I should go for it!” He was settling down, the laughter dying out slowly. “Poor Bev,” he added with a grin. “Hearing about you from me, and me from you,” he added, waggling his eyebrows.

“You wish,” Eddie responded out of habit, and he knew it made no sense, but Richie laughed anyways.

“I know, actually, because _somebody_ told me while they were in the middle of yelling at me,” he said then, and Eddie felt his face heat up.

“Oh, right,” he said meekly.

“Y’know,” Richie said thoughtfully, “if I would’ve known that all it would take to shut you up was kissing you...” he trailed off with a grin. “Would’ve tried it way sooner. Much better than _beep beep_,” he finished, and Eddie recalled that he’d been in the middle of saying exactly that when Richie had first yanked him into a kiss.

“Shut up,” Eddie laughed.

“Make me,” Richie retorted, and Eddie suddenly recalled how often Richie had said that exact thing before. It felt different, now, with the memory of Richie making him do just that when Eddie had been in the middle of a tirade.

“Sorry,” Eddie said, and Richie blinked at him in confusion.

“For like - being an asshole all day,” Eddie clarified. He really did feel badly, in retrospect, but it wasn’t like he’d set out to be a jerk. He was just cautious, and nervous, and he’d jumped to conclusions, which felt pretty justified.

”But like, to be fair - you’re totally an idiot!” Eddie continued. “Did you seriously think I’d just not assume that you were making fun of me?” It went unspoken that enough other people did, that it was what Eddie was used to, that being the joke was part of his life in Derry.

“Eds, I’ve been calling you cute every day since we were like, eight years old,” Richie replied, rolling his eyes like it was obvious.

“Yeah, but - but that - that was all a joke!” Eddie protested. “You were always doing that bit, how was I supposed to know—“

“Wasn’t a bit,” Richie said with a quiet shrug. “I mean, maybe like, way back when we were little, but - nope, not a bit.”

“Oh,” Eddie said, his stomach flipping over.

“So like I said,” Richie continued with a sense of finality, “you’re so stupid.” It was said fondly, and Richie’s hands moved as though to reach out for Eddie. He shoved them into his pockets after an awkward moment hovering between the two of them.

“_You’re_ so stupid” was Eddie’s genius retort. He felt fluttery and a little woozy, the reality of the situation really settling on him.

He felt like maybe it was hitting Richie, too; he was looking at the ground, hands stuffed in his pockets. The energy was both charged and awkward, as though both of them had become suddenly aware of just what they’d actually done.

“So...what now?”

Eddie asked it tentatively, cringing at how stupid it sounded. But truthfully, he didn’t know the answer. He had never even kissed anyone before, let alone his best friend, and he had no idea what was supposed to happen next. He just knew that he wanted there to be _something_ next, something with Richie.

There was the threat in the back of his mind, too, of the judgmental eyes of Derry - of graffiti under bridges and blood on pavement and whispered rumors like poison, not to mention his mother. But that, Eddie decide, was a problem for later.

“Dunno,” Richie said awkwardly.

“Should we...go back?” Eddie jerked his head backwards, towards where the rest of their friends sat, out of view. He’d realized that they’d both disappeared in a grand exit, and their friends were no doubt wondering what the hell was going on. They should probably go back, he reasoned, act normal—

“Fuck no!”

Apparently, Richie didn’t agree.

"But we..._I_ left so pissed,” Eddie said, embarrassed. ”You know they’ve gotta be wondering—”

“Let ‘em!” Richie exclaimed, throwing out his hands. “We can just tell them we made up over whatever had you all mad. But really,“ he added mischievously, “we’ll be making ou—“ 

“Shh!” Eddie said, laughing. Even though Richie was sort of joking, Eddie knew he was sort of not, too. The thought of kissing Richie again made Eddie a little woozy, in a good way. 

“But really,” Richie added, joking tone replaced by something more sincere. “Let’s just - go somewhere,” he said earnestly. “Like, the arcade, or we could get ice cream...?” He said it like a question, cheeks flushed slightly.

“Is this your extremely lame attempt at asking me out?” Eddie asked weakly, but he was far too nervous to actually have any power behind his words.

“Depends.”

“On?”

“What your answer is,” Richie said, giving Eddie a small, hopeful grin.

“Hmm.” Eddie pretended to think hard about it, but he was too giddy to be able to commit to the joke. He couldn’t help the grin that broke through his attempt to be contemplative. It felt like he was full of sunshine, glowing right out of his face. “I could go for some Street Fighter,” he said finally, trying and failing to play it cool.

Richie lit up, and his smile was contagious.

“Then let’s blow this popsicle stand, Eds!”

Richie was practically vibrating with excitement, and Eddie couldn’t say he blamed him. Everything felt - right. There was no more of the tension, the weirdness; the anxious twisting of the stomach that had been bothering Eddie for much longer than he’d realized was finally gone. It felt like the sun was shining just for the two of them, catching on the rim of Richie’s glasses like a winking grin and making Eddie’s face pleasantly warm. There was still a nervousness, because of course there was, but it was nice. Like butterflies, Eddie thought, and he suddenly felt like he understood why Ben wrote his poems.

Eddie had grabbed his bike while he was lost in thought, feeling lighter than air. Just as he was standing it up, he heard Richie clear his throat next to him.

“So I wasn’t lying about my bike,” he said, trailing off.

Eddie rolled his eyes, leaning against his bike.

“You can ride double.”

Richie grinned. “Never thought you’d offer, Eds,” he said, following as Eddie wheeled his bike into the street.

Eddie’s bike wasn’t as big as Silver, and it didn’t have the package carrier on the back for passengers, so Richie would have to stand on the pegs. In truth, Eddie was pretty sure he’d never had anyone ride double on his bike before - Bill always did it, when someone needed a ride. He watched Richie swing his leg over, waiting with one foot on a peg and one on the ground.

Eddie was nervous, the butterflies morphing into something less warm but more familiar as he swung a leg over the bike and settled onto the seat. He didn’t really know what to do - what if he couldn’t support both of them? What if his bike broke? What if he crashed, or they missed a stop and got hit by a car, or—

He felt Richie’s hands settle tentatively on his shoulders, bringing him back to reality.

”This okay?” He asked, voice close to Eddie’s ear.

“Mhm,” Eddie hummed. As though Richie could sense his nervousness, he gave Eddie’s shoulder a little squeeze.

“Take us away, Spaghetti!”

Eddie took a deep breath, then took his foot off the ground and pushed the pedals. He felt that old moment of terror before he caught himself, the second where he was sure that he was about to go crashing to earth.

But then Richie leaned forward, his hands pressing reassuringly onto Eddie’s shoulders, and they were off.

They whipped down the street, stable and fast. Eddie thought about falling as he pedaled - the feeling of losing your balance on a bike, or of tripping in the woods. He thought about the weightlessness of jumping at the quarry, and of the way that it made his stomach lurch for that brief moment of free fall. The way the wind rustled his hair as it whipped around him, the way he was always so nervous at first, the unique feeling of being alive that only comes when the ground beneath your feet is suddenly, totally gone.

Eddie Kaspbrak sped down the street on his bike in the sunshine, Richie Tozier riding double on the back pegs.

He thought about falling, and he began to laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO there you have it!!! after 6 and a half long months and almost 90,000 words, we finally reach the end of the story. i hope you enjoyed it, i certainly enjoyed writing it! leave a comment (i love them all) if you want to, and come find me on tumblr at choking-onholywater!! 
> 
> also, lemme know if you'd ever want an epilogue, because i have some things that could be cleared up/added in if people are into that
> 
> thanks for reading and for going on this journey w me to write by far my longest piece ever!


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